


Skeleton

by LilydaleXF



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Choose Your Own Adventure, F/M, MSR, casefile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 14:10:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6287719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilydaleXF/pseuds/LilydaleXF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A skeleton's talking, and Mulder and Scully are investigating. As far as casefiles go, this one is on the fluffy side since our agents are pretty busy paying attention to each other.</p>
<p>Set sometime in season 6, though the story could fall anytime after season 6's "How the Ghosts Stole Christmas" and before season 7's "Requiem."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skeleton

**Author's Note:**

> This story is in the form of a choose your own adventure. Every so often you'll come to a question that indicates decision time. Choose what you want to happen next, and the story will continue using your choice. You can always go back and make another choice if you want to see another turn of events or if you just want to see what other things Mulder and Scully do and say.
> 
> Various story routes reference "Colony / End Game," "Demons," "How the Ghosts Stole Christmas," "Lazarus," "One Breath," and "Redux I/II," but no specific knowledge of these episodes is needed to enjoy the story.
> 
> Thanks to Anjou and Blueswirl for helping me make this story better.

Scully knows it's been a rough day when she thinks that going home, microwaving a frozen burrito, and eating it standing up and barefoot in her kitchen sounds like a slice of heaven. The most ridiculous part is that she's never even had a frozen burrito, much less stocked them in her freezer. Maybe she could buy one on the way home when she stops to get a giant cherry Slurpee and a pack of Morleys.

Mulder better appreciate the autopsy she just did at his request since it's driven her to fantasizing about convenience stores.

Stepping into the X-Files office, she sees Mulder sitting at his desk and announces, "Ball bearings, Mulder. Not alien implants, ball bearings."

"What?" He doesn't even look up from his computer screen.

"I just spent eight hours fishing ball bearings out of the late Charles Johnston that could've been metallic tracking balls of some dastardly alien sort per your theory, but were actually just dozens of ball bearings swallowed in a fit of...something. I have no idea what he was thinking," Scully sighs as she realizes she doesn't really know anything about the case or the man other than his lack of embedded alien technology.

"Tough break. Listen, Scully, this article--"

"That's it? 'Tough break?' It took over eight hours, Mulder! I never even ate lunch. Or breakfast."

"I know, Scully. I appreciate it." He finally looks up at her, his eyes softer than she expected as he turns an open bag of sunflower seeds her way. "But there's this thing in New Orleans I think you should hear about."

Mildly resigned, she pours herself into the chair in front of his desk, shoes loudly clomping on the floor as she slides them off. She can tell by his voice that she should make herself comfortable for this discussion. There's something relaxing in just that detection; the lost shoes are a bonus.

"What's in New Orleans?" she prods.

Mulder visibly lightens up at her query. He can be such a little boy, she thinks, pleased with attention and eerie tales.

"I was searching for the latest article by Steven Smith. You remember him? The paranormal psychologist?"

"Oh no, not that football guy, the one who showed up here that day with his face all painted?"

"The very same. But don't worry, Scully, he's not in town for a game again. Or maybe he is, I don't know. He's not really the point. Just the starting point."

Relief, she thinks, colors both their faces.

"It had been a while since the last article in his ghosts series, so I hit the Internet to search for the latest."

Nice to know he was lounging back and surfing the net while she was playing a real life game of Operation.

Mulder continues, "I clicked on the first search result and found an article by Steven Smith, but not the one I expected. Seems that there's a skeleton talking at Tulane University. A real one," he adds at her raised eyebrow. "Students are having difficulty working in the physiology lab with the display model chattering in the corner."

"What does the skeleton say?"

"You believe it's talking?"

"I didn't say that." Her lips curve into a suggestion of a smile.

"Hmm, well, the article isn't too clear on the skeleton's words, but it does say," he looks at his computer screen and reads, "'Students who have heard the skeleton report hearing mixed messages. The skeleton usually talks clearly but not in full sentences, often repeating the same phrase or delving into mumblings before a complete thought is finished. Repeat themes do emerge, however, with the skeleton often mentioning curtains, drinking coffee, and pulling teeth.'"

He looks up at Scully expectantly, like she'd have marvelously linked together these meager pieces and solved the riddle. Or maybe she's misreading his verging excitement as faith in her. Regardless, she says, "Mulder, that makes no sense."

"I know!"

It's excitement, definitely excitement.

Scully rebuffs, "How do the students even know the voice is coming from the skeleton? Does its jaw move? Couldn't the voice just as easily - no, more easily - come from a hidden speaker or something as part of a quirky prank? Once in med school I saw a heart dance across a gurney and hop into a book bag."

"Hey, you've got to hide your love away."

"I don't think that's what The Beatles had in mind."

Mulder smirks but then switches back to his investigative face. "The voice emanates from the corner of the room with the skeleton where there's nothing else but posters on the wall, based on the article's photo and description. And the students who've heard him may hear different things, but they all describe the voice as the same: 'male, distant, and tinny.' The article also says that a search didn't reveal any unexpected electronics equipment anywhere near the skeleton or elsewhere in the room. It's the skeleton talking, Scully."

"Mulder..."

"No, it could be, Scully. There's plenty of research suggesting that spirits can be caught between the worlds of the living and the dead, lingering with confusion about the reality of death or with unfinished business. You know that's a typical explanation for ghosts." She concedes with a half nod. "But this spirit doesn't need to manifest as a ghost; this spirit still has his body. In a way. And he's talking about it, his problems, his teeth, whatever."

"What section of the paper was this article printed in? And was it even in the real student newspaper? Or was it in some unofficial humor zine?"

"The real deal, Scully. News, page two."

She sighs again, feeling lost in a maybe-X-File for the second time today. It has not been a banner day for demonstrating why she wanted to join the FBI, or be a pathologist at all for that matter. Ball bearing snacks, talking skeletons - they do not teach about such things in books. Just in conspiracy magazines and, apparently, college newspapers.

This is so absurd.

"How did you find this article again, Mulder?"

"You know of Smith's proclivity for football,--"

"In full color," she interjects.

"--and every article he writes includes at least one curious football metaphor, so 'ghosts,' 'football,' and his name seemed like a unique enough search combination, but this university article was result number one." He smirks. "The student Smith suggests that the skeleton may be a good replacement for their running back who fell twice in one game after failing to properly tie his shoes not once but two separate times during the game."

"The skeleton wore tennis shoes. Terrific," she adds with a drip or twenty of sarcasm.

"I don't write it, I just report it. And suggest that we go investigate."

"What? The skeleton, I hope. I don't know much about football beyond the Super Bowls."

She doesn't mention Superstars of the Super Bowls, and he doesn't either. It's one of those sacred things they both remember but never mention. She hadn't even meant to imply it here - football's never been much on her radar beyond the existence of one really big game every year that practically shuts down the country. Yet her reason to live now lurks in the room, and she knows he sees the elephant too by the way his eyes momentarily cross hers with an odd mix of reverence and regret before they dart back over to his computer screen.

"The skeleton's the one with the unexplained actions, so yes, him," says Mulder, a smile sneaking onto his face as he taps the screen with his finger and looks back at her. "A spine-chilling investigation awaits. Whaddaya say, Scully?"

?: How should Scully react?

For an agreeable response, go to section A.

For Scully to be reluctant to investigate, go to section B.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Section A

Tired, hungry, and still coveting junk food, she should fight this ridiculous investigation, but it's about time they had a case solely on her turf with a star witness only she's dealt with countless times in countless situations: a very dead resident of a lab.

"So, when do we leave?"

"That's it? Off we go?"

"Sometimes it really is that simple, Mulder." She hopes it stays that way.

He grins an impish grin as he leans his head and shoulders over his desk like a plant to the sun. "I hope you maintain that optimistic glow when the surprisingly animate Boney-Man talks your ear off."

Before she even formulates a response to his words or has time to do anything but gape, she thinks to herself that she'll maintain any kind of glow he wants if he keeps grinning at her like that.

That's it, no more eight hour autopsies without breaks, she promises to herself. They definitely cloud her thinking.

Luckily he seems to take her staring as an unspoken request for more information and he lets her know they're already booked on a 7:50pm flight to New Orleans.

"And we're going to New Orleans armed with what facts exactly? Just this article?"

"And Skinner's okay," Mulder adds.

"Skinner already approved the trip? Today," she incredulously drones. "Based on this article."

"Sort of."

She chuckles and shakes her head. "I don't want to know."

He grins that distracting grin again and shakes his head as if to silently say "No, no you don't."

Resigned and shaking her own head as if to say "I know that resistance is futile," she picks up his bag of seeds and asks out loud, "So then, when do you drive us to the airport?"

After stopping for food en route to the airport and again eating on the plane, Scully feels less light-headed than she did in Washington. It didn't even take any frozen burritos to make her feel better.

Her body may be improved, but her mind is still unsettled. This case bothers her, probably because they hardly know any facts, have no contacts, and can't possibly be taken seriously when they start questioning people about a talking skeleton. Not that that would be the first time they earned curious glances she'd have to ignore. Maybe after a good night's sleep she'd feel more confident.

First, they have to drive from the airport to the university. Good old Lariat.

?: Who should drive the rental car?

For Scully, go to section C.

For Mulder, go to section D.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Section B

"No, Mulder."

He stares at her agape.

"Just, no," she lamely asserts.

At his continued ape-mouth, she says, "It's absurd. It's a filler article. It's just students wanting to get out of work by making up impossible-to-prove stories, buy some free time away from the lab. It's not a pressing X-File."

"A talking skeleton isn't an X-File? Should I send it up to violent crimes? Insurance fraud? Or maybe the civil rights section would like to know about Rambling Old Boney stuck on a pole and cooped up in a room against his wi--"

"Enough, Mulder." Now he's just being a jerk. An adorable, quick-witted jerk, but a jerk. So she interrupted him. It's only fair to keep things at a consistent jerky level in the X-Files division. "I suppose I understand that this office might be the case's most appropriate destination, but I'm suggesting that those file cabinets over there might serve as a better home for it than the top of our caseload right now."

"We don't have a caseload right now," he points out as he shoots a pencil into the ceiling.

"Right. Ball bearings."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Hmm," Scully says as she picks up Mulder's bag of seeds.

"So?"

"So."

This conversation isn't going exactly as Scully would like, which would be over and done and one step closer to her being home.

Mulder says, "No caseload, just this one lonely case looking for a home."

"Good grief, Mulder, it's not an orphaned puppy." Just a case causing him to look at her with puppy dog eyes, but she's not going to mention that. "Plus, it's not even a case, just a screwball article."

"Well, that's not entirely accurate."

She curves up her eyebrows in her traditional "uh-oh" maneuver.

He pulls some papers from under his keyboard and pushes them toward her.

The papers look a lot like plane tickets. She picks them up to confirm her fears.

"7:50? We're going to New Orleans tonight?"

"Think you can wait for a Creole dinner?"

"What if I hadn't finished the autopsy in time? And what if it hadn't been ball bearings?"

He shrugs. "You would've called me."

She would have. Right away.

She wants to throw the tickets at Mulder, but she slowly puts them on the desk and slides them back to him. "We're going to New Orleans armed with what facts exactly? Just this article?"

"And Skinner's okay," Mulder adds.

"Skinner already approved the trip? Today," she incredulously drones. "Based on this article."

"Sort of."

She chuckles and shakes her head. "I don't want to know."

He grins a distracting grin and shakes his head to silently as if say "No, no you don't."

Resigned now that the trip is already approved and Mulder's enthusiasm is clearly turned on high, she shakes her own head as if to say "I know that resistance is futile" and asks out loud, "Can we stop for dinner on the way?"

"You're coming along?"

She nods.

"Not just dropping me off at the airport?"

"Yes, Mulder, against my better judgment and against all that I had planned for tonight, I'm going to New Orleans to investigate a talking skeleton."

"Ooo, what did you have planned for tonight, Scully?"

In a sort of karmic payback justice, Mulder's recently launched pencil falls from the ceiling and bangs against his shoulder. Pointy side down.

She ignores him and looks at the floor fumbling for her shoes. "Okay, it's settled. We're stopping for dinner on the way."

Two meals later, one in the car and one on the plane, they're safely at the New Orleans airport. Scully feels less light-headed than she did in Washington. It didn't even take any frozen burritos to make her feel better.

Her body may be improved, but her mind is still unsettled. This case bothers her, probably because they hardly know any facts, have no contacts, and can't possibly be taken seriously when they start questioning people about a talking skeleton. Not that that would be the first time they earned curious glances she'd have to ignore. Maybe after a good night's sleep she'd feel more confident.

First, they have to drive from the airport to the university. Good old Lariat.

?: Who should drive the rental car?

For Scully, go to section C.

For Mulder, go to section D.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Section C

"Are you sure you're okay to drive, Scully? You still seem a little tired."

Is he mocking her for sleeping the entire flight save the few minutes she was up to eat? She woke up on her own right as the attendant rolled the cart by - she had her priorities, and clearly eating was high up on the list today.

"I'm fine, Mulder. All napped and ready. If you're concerned, we can talk so you know I'm staying awake."

She knows that Mulder enjoys verbal pre-case speculation as a general rule, but it's practically a given whenever she's driving. That's not exactly why Mulder usually drives, but she admits that it's part of it.

When they first became partners, she tried to level their driving times as part of her high-strung effort to level their partnership in all areas and show her equal value. It did not take long for her to recognize that everyone's better off if Mulder drives because it centers him, calms down his energy. Some people build their rage on the road, but while driving Mulder lets all his out like smoke from the exhaust. While she centers herself by sitting still and getting inside her head, Mulder needs to move and to relax his mind by focusing on an endless stream of small things like maps, the speedometer, and stoplights. It's similar to why she spends free nights sitting quietly and researching journal articles or taking baths while he plays basketball or watches movies he's already seen fifty times.

True balanced partnership doesn't come from straight 50/50 division of tasks, she now knows. But she also knows that partnership can't always follow a static standard operating procedure, so tonight, she drives.

"How about our game plan for tomorrow?"

"Did you already set up something else that I don't know about?" Scully asks with both trepidation and hope.

"Getting you a plane ticket wasn't enough?" Mulder dramatically mourns.

"Maybe if it'd been first class."

Mulder grins and nods and says, "A call to Steven Smith at the paper would be a good place to start. He probably knows more about the skeleton than anybody else. He'd at least be able to give us further contacts."

"I'd like to see the lab."

"The skeleton is alluring, yes. The paper should give student or staff contacts at the lab so we know who to contact or approach."

"Of course, but I don't want to entirely rely on second or third hand stories. We also need to scan the lab for electronic equipment, as that is the most likely explanation at this point."

"I'll look for a pull string hanging from the skull. Like a chatty doll."

Scully blankly stares in lieu of verbal response, and Mulder continues talking.

"We could also head to the department building and get a class schedule, perhaps find out when we might best be able to examine the lab."

"The lab will be busy all day, Mulder. I think your first instinct was best, contact the paper and get all the background information we can. From there we can direct our attention to the most appropriate person to authorize our lab access and research."

"And let's hope this Steven Smith is face paint free."

"That goes without saying."

From there they rode in comfortable conversational quiet. They hadn't traveled to New Orleans before and were both taking in the lights and sights of the city. Sometimes that's the only way to make their constant traveling tolerable, sitting and gawking in silence as if they were tourists soaking in the sights instead of federal agents soaking in gore and goo.

While pulling into a randomly chosen motel of dubious quality and low enough cost for the FBI, Mulder had chivalrously offered to get their rooms while she waited in the car. Perhaps she showed a bit more of her exhaustion than she thought. No matter since whatever Mulder's reasons, she's getting a short respite of quiet semi-relaxation.

Sitting in their car in a motel parking lot, Scully has her eyes closed and her head resting back on the headrest. She supposed it too ideal for Mulder to have already figured out where they were staying in New Orleans. He was probably busy enough getting such swift approval for the trip in the first place.

As they'd neared Tulane, she was ready to stop anywhere and just go to sleep. When Mulder spotted a motel with avocado green doors open to the outside, she pulled right in. The FBI travel budget left much to be desired. Then again, she and Mulder probably use up more than any sort of reasonably conceivable budget for a little division of two. They're probably lucky they haven't been issued camping gear for repeat, cost-effective usage.

"Scully!"

"Jesus, Mulder!" She practically jumps out of her seat, gun nearly raised, at Mulder's shout and knock on the driver's side window.

"We have a little problem with the room situation."

She closes her eyes again, head falling back and knocking the hard headrest. This is not good news.

?: The problem should involve how many remaining rooms available at the motel?

For 0, go to section E.

For 1, go to section F.

For 2, go to section G.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Section D

As Mulder pulls out of the Lariat lot, he asks Scully, "Do you want to stop for more food?"

"No, we should go right to a hotel."

"Because I only saw you eat dinner twice, and I don't want to stop you from going for the hat trick."

"I'm fine, Mulder." She refrains from adding "you obnoxious nutcase." If only he knew how many times she held back phrases like that he wouldn't just be offering to stop for dinner, he'd be offering to buy it for her.

"Okay, as long as you're sure."

"I think I'll just sit back and rest my eyes."

"I'll wake you when we get to a hotel, maybe wave a hot dog under your nose or something," he finishes taunting.

She softly groans, closes her eyes, and leans back her head.

Scully's not worried about Mulder falling asleep or getting bored while driving. He usually drives wherever they're going, which is how they both prefer it.

When they first became partners, she tried to level their driving times as part of her high-strung effort to level their partnership in all areas and show her equal value. It did not take long for her to recognize that everyone's better off if Mulder drives because it centers him, calms down his energy. Some people build their rage on the road, but while driving Mulder lets all his out like smoke from the exhaust. While she centers herself by sitting still and getting inside her head, Mulder needs to move and to relax his mind by focusing on an endless stream of small things like maps, the speedometer, and stoplights. It's similar to why she spends free nights sitting quietly and researching journal articles or taking baths while he plays basketball or watches movies he's already seen fifty times.

True balanced partnership doesn't come from straight 50/50 division of tasks, she now knows.

The silence stirred by only the whir of the wheels and the rustling of a crisp New Orleans map, Scully does rest for a while. But she slept for hours on the plane and spent the day silently fishing ball bearings out of that poor man's body and she realizes that she's actually in the mood for conversation.

Sitting up and running her hands down her suit coat to smooth it and alert Mulder that she's up, she says, "So, Mulder, do we have a plan for tomorrow?" Maybe he scheduled something beyond the flight.

"A call to Steven Smith at the paper would be a good place to start. He probably knows more about the skeleton than anybody else. He'd at least be able to give us further contacts."

"I'd like to see the lab."

"The skeleton is alluring, yes. The paper should give student or staff contacts at the lab so we know who to contact or approach."

"Of course, but I don't want to entirely rely on second or third hand stories. We also need to scan the lab for electronic equipment, as that is the most likely explanation at this point."

"I'll look for a pull string hanging from the skull. Like a chatty doll."

Scully blankly stares in lieu of verbal response, and Mulder continues talking.

"We could also head to the department building and get a class schedule, perhaps find out when we might best be able to examine the lab."

"The lab will be busy all day, Mulder. I think your first instinct was best, contact the paper and get all the background information we can. From there we can direct our attention to the most appropriate person to authorize our lab access and research."

"And let's hope this Steven Smith is face paint free."

"That goes without saying."

From there they rode in comfortable conversational quiet. They hadn't traveled to New Orleans before and were both taking in the lights and sights of the city. Sometimes that's the only way to make their constant traveling tolerable, sitting and gawking in silence as if they were tourists soaking in the sights instead of federal agents soaking in gore and goo.

While pulling into a randomly chosen motel of dubious quality and low enough cost for the FBI, Mulder had chivalrously offered to get their rooms while she waited in the car. Perhaps she showed a bit more of her exhaustion than she thought. No matter since whatever Mulder's reasons, she's getting a short respite of quiet semi-relaxation.

Sitting in their car in a motel parking lot, Scully has her eyes closed and head resting back on the headrest. She supposed it too ideal for Mulder to have already figured out where they were staying in New Orleans. He was probably busy enough getting such swift approval for the trip in the first place.

As they'd neared Tulane, she was ready to stop anywhere and just go to sleep. When Mulder spotted a motel with avocado green doors open to the outside, he pulled right in. The FBI travel budget left much to be desired. Then again, she and Mulder probably use up more than any sort of reasonably conceivable budget for a little division of two. They're probably lucky they haven't been issued camping gear for repeat, cost-effective usage.

"Scully!"

"Jesus, Mulder!" She practically jumps out of her seat, gun nearly raised, at Mulder's shouting and knocking on her window.

"We have a little problem with the room situation."

She closes her eyes again, head falling back and conking the headrest. This is not good news.

?: The problem should involve how many remaining rooms available at the motel?

For 0, go to section H.

For 1, go to section F.

For 2, go to section G.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Section E

"Seems like there aren't any rooms available," Mulder says.

"Well, get back in the car and we'll go somewhere else."

"No, no rooms are available in the city."

She doesn't open her eyes because heaven help him if he's smiling. "In the city?"

"There's a huge dental convention in town and everything's filled. No cavities, Scully."

"Stop kidding, Mulder."

"No kidding. New Orleans is filled to capacity. It's like Mardi Gras but without any beads or parades."

"Maybe we can find something somewhere. Get back in the car, and we'll keep looking."

He silently agrees by getting back into the passenger seat.

They drive around for over an hour, stopping at every hotel, motel, motor lodge, motor court, and arguably accommodating establishment they saw. Both of them maintain a surprising optimism of eventual success, but cheery attitudes aren't all they're cracked up to be.

Now sitting in the parking lot of the Party Mardi Motel and Bar, Scully's holding the key to ignition and staring straight ahead. She's half tempted to see how far she can tilt back her seat and to go to sleep now. The giant neon dancing crawfish shining bright red on her face is about the only thing stopping her.

"My turn to drive, Scully?" Mulder inquires after a few seconds of silent sitting.

"No, it's okay." She still doesn't move to start the car. She does, however, yawn.

"So, uh..." He trails off, confused but probably not wanting to push her too hard given that he's responsible for this little trip. Rightly so.

"So," Scully says, "how long before we call it quits?"

"Quits? You mean go back to Washington?"

"No, until we park somewhere and call it a night."

"Are you asking me to park with you, Scully? If so, I say now."

"This lot has a little too much 'Party' for parking. And by that I mean sleeping, Mulder."

"Darker is better. I agree."

"For sleeping," she reminds him even though she knows he knows and isn't really suggesting otherwise. He never really is, she doesn't think. "Next motel is our last?"

"Yeah. I hate dentists."

"They are easy to hate, especially now."

Continuing down the road, they fairly soon reach another motel hanging a "No Vacancy" sign, the parking lot allotted a significantly lower neon lights budget than the previous one. Scully pulls into a space next to a huge van hitched to a U-Haul trailer. If it would be a problem for a non-paying customer to park in the lot, that driving monstrosity effectively blocks sight of their small sedan from the motel's front office. She shuts off the ignition but leaves on power for the interior lights.

Neither she nor Mulder move or speak. Minutes pass.

She can already tell that this night will be such a joy.

After a couple more minutes of silence, Scully reaches to recline her seat, which prompts Mulder to do the same. Now they're half-sitting, half-lying in the quiet near-dark.

A few minutes elapse before one of them can't stand it anymore.

"Do you want me to read you a bedtime story, Scully?"

"No, that's okay."

"I've got a Taurus manual and a case file. Your choice," he continues.

"How about you make up a story?" He should have to make payment of some sort for this unfortunate night.

"Like a story about two ghosts with a Christmas Eve lovers pact?"

She reaches over and thwaps his arm. "You made that all up? I knew it!"

He dramatically rubs his attacked arm as if she really hurt him. "I wouldn't lie to you, Scully. That was at the very least based on a true story. That's why I asked if you wanted a story like that one - one based on truth but fit for a late night spin."

"I can't believe you made that up," she says, shaking her head in half-mocking indignation.

"Why, because it all held so true?"

Scully doesn't have to look at Mulder to know he's smiling. Broadly. God, Mulder can be so annoying. It's a good thing she already fancies him.

"You know," she says, "I think hearing something from the case file will put me right to sleep."

"You're no fun, Scully."

"Especially," she continues, ignoring him and not mentioning how he wouldn't think she was so boring if he knew she just entertained a spontaneous thought about fancying him, "given that monotone voice of yours."

"Be careful, I'm going to start hating you more than dentists pretty soon."

"Come on, read to me, Mulder." She hopes he heard the purr she injected in there.

"Yes, Ma'am." Yes, he heard it.

After a bit of back seat fumbling, Mulder gets the case file in hand and begins reading. Bless him for starting with the newspaper article and not the case requisition form. She knows she should probably listen to him and maybe figure something new out about the case, but his droning voice does have a sort of calming, sleep-inducing effect. Something to remember. She toes off her shoes and sighs.

A sentence a ways into the article nevertheless manages to catch her attention.

"While the lab's staying open its normal hours," Mulder reads, "students are making decreased use of it. 'It's hard getting work done when some old dead guy is talking in the corner creeping up the room, especially when the building's practically deserted,' says a twenty-two year old student who wishes to remain anonymous."

"Hey, stop a minute," she says, her eyes popping open and her voice startling Mulder. "University labs usually have long hours, sometimes 24/7."

"Tonight could involve some long hours."

"Yes, yes it could," she agrees.

They turn to each other across the armrest and share a look of relief and renewed purpose. They break eye contact before any regret can sneak in. No further discussion is necessary. They both restore their seats to their full and upright positions, Scully slips on her shoes, and she starts the car.

"Tell me the way, Navigator," Scully says as they leave to start their investigation a little earlier than planned. Given the late hour, it's a quick drive on pretty deserted roads and she easily finds a parking space close to the lab. Soon thereafter, they're at the lab building's front doors. Which are locked. They stand and stare at them for a while, occasionally jiggling the handles just to make sure.

"I don't suppose you have a secret skeleton key you never told me about that's good for all labs, do you, Scully?"

"Sorry, Mulder."

"How about a lock picking kit?"

"Well, yes, but--"

"But what? Our skeleton awaits!"

"'But what,' Mulder? Breaking and entering is a criminal offense. I know, we've done it before, but here we have no just cause. And no urgency. We're in a well lit area. Someone could come by at any moment, report us, and we'd be hauled away before our investigation ever starts. Or, we could patiently wait here and a student could come along and let us in without us having to break the law."

He raises an eyebrow at her. "Would you have let two strangers into your school lab after midnight?"

She's silent.

"Exactly. We have no choice."

"There's always a choice, Mulder."

?: How should Mulder and Scully get inside the building?

If you want them to legally get inside, go to section I.

If you want them to break in, go to section J.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Section F

"Seems like there's only one room left," Mulder says.

"Well, get back in the car and we'll go somewhere else."

"No, one room in the city."

She doesn't open her eyes because heaven help him if he's smiling. "In the city?"

"There's a huge dental convention in town and everything's filled. No cavities, Scully."

"Stop kidding, Mulder."

"I'm not. Although, technically, I should have said that there are now zero rooms available in metropolitan New Orleans."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I hope you brought something short and sexy to sleep in tonight, Scully."

She groans as she hears his feet crunching gravel as he walks back to the trunk. Great, this day could not possibly have been any more frustrating for her or more like a playground for Mulder. Except if she had brought her little blue shimmery satin pajamas instead of her cotton, utterly head-to-toe, tent-like pajamas.

When Scully steps into the room she's not entirely surprised to see both their bags at the foot of the room's sole bed. The one enormous, enormous bed. She doesn't even see Mulder at first. The room is all bed. All gigantic bed.

"I don't mean to seem ungrateful, Mulder, but are you sure everything everywhere else is booked?"

"The manager and I were both calling around, Scully."

He doesn't sound at all put off or agitated. He doesn't even sound amused. No, tonight's monotone is nothing but.

"This room's free only because an orthodontist from Spokane got food poisoning and is now staying in the hospital. I pass on the suggestion to not eat next door at Dot's Good Diner."

She sighs but sincerely says, "Thank you for trying, Mulder."

"It would've been nice to have finally had an excuse to stay somewhere expensive with carpeted halls because the town is otherwise booked, but maybe next time," he says, grinning at her in a way that should probably annoy her but doesn't. She grins right back.

Both their smiles fade away as their eyes drift from each other and to the room of bed. Minor formalities over, they must now begin the more traumatic formalities of sharing a room. She sits at one corner at the foot of the bed next to her bag. Mulder sits at the other, next to his. Neither of them move any further and there's silence. Doesn't Mulder usually turn on the TV first thing?

"So," he says, "you hungry?"

"No, I think I eating dinner twice made up for the day. You?"

"No, that airplane meal was really filling. Mmm."

"We were lucky to get more than just peanuts."

"Yeah, the flight was late enough that dinner was a surprise."

"Though the real surprise was that it was edible."

"True. We're connoisseurs of such things now."

"We are."

"Not that there's anything wrong with a microscopic bag of roasted peanuts."

"Right."

"Peanuts are a good source of protein."

"And are thus a good snack."

Halted silence. There is no way Mulder could find this conversation any less ridiculous or inane than she does.

"I could order a pizza or something," Mulder offers.

"Oh, are you hungry?" Maybe they could just speak in circles all night and suddenly find themselves at morning.

"A little." He pauses. "I thought it'd be good for later. While going through all our notes."

"You're going to work more? Now?"

"It couldn't hurt to be more prepared for tomorrow, read a bit more about the lab or bone structure or souls caught between the living and dead worlds or something."

"Tonight? Here?" she says, looking around the sparse room that she now notices that in addition to the (enormous) bed also includes two nightstands, one small dresser, and a TV sitting atop it. Unless Mulder plans to set up study central on the floor, he'll be on this bed. Like she could ever sleep next to that.

Also looking around, Mulder asks, "You have a better idea?"

She doesn't, but she still offers something no doubt thanks to tired brain synapses firing to her mouth before firing to her good senses. "The lab. That's where we'd find the most helpful evidence."

He lights up and stands, nodding with unnatural enthusiasm. "You're right! And we'd likely have undisturbed investigation time at night! We should go."

Despite her fatigue, the late hour, and thus the horrible wrongness inherent in the idea, leaving is still more appealing than figuring out how either of them could possibly get any rest that night, much less get into bed together in the first place. Unbidden, it occurs to her that she never really thought that would be a problem once the opportunity actually presented itself. Well that certainly settles it, she thinks, they are definitely getting out of this room.

"Okay," she says, standing. "Let's go."

Given the late hour, it's a quick drive on pretty deserted roads and they easily find a parking space close to the lab. Soon thereafter, they're at the lab building's front doors. Which are locked. They stand and stare at them for a while, occasionally jiggling the handles just to make sure.

"I don't suppose you have a secret skeleton key good for all labs, do you, Scully?"

"Sorry, Mulder."

"How about a lock picking kit?"

"Well, yes, but--"

"But what? Our skeleton awaits!"

"'But what,' Mulder? Breaking and entering is a criminal offense. I know, we've done it before, but here we have no just cause. And no urgency. We're in a well lit area. Someone could come by at any moment, report us, and we'd be hauled away before our investigation ever starts. Or, we could patiently wait here and a student could come along and let us in without us having to break the law."

He raises an eyebrow at her. "Would you have let two strangers into your school lab after midnight?"

She's silent.

"Exactly. We have no choice."

"There's always a choice, Mulder."

?: How should Mulder and Scully get inside the building?

If you want them to legally get inside, go to section I.

If you want them to break in, go to section J.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Section G

She rolls down the window to make it easier to talk as he doesn't seem anxious to get back in the car. "What do you mean 'a problem,' Mulder?"

"It's not so much a problem as a delightful dilemma." She raises an eyebrow at him, a very pointed Explain Now eyebrow. "There are two rooms available here, but one room is a little more spacious than the other." More eyebrow, even more pointed. Their well-developed unspoken communication skills, she marvels at for not the first time, are a thing to behold. "One room is a business deluxe while the other is a possibly-cot-like bed in an old fallout shelter room."

"The only dilemma I see, Mulder, is deciding which other motel to drive to next."

He shakes his head. "There's a huge dental convention in town and everything's filled. No cavities, Scully."

"Stop kidding, Mulder."

"I'm not. Although, technically, I should have said that there are zero rooms available in metropolitan New Orleans." Smiling and looking very proud, Mulder announces, "I got us these last two rooms."

"I don't mean to seem ungrateful, Mulder, but are you sure everything everywhere else is booked?"

"The manager and I were both calling around, Scully. The business room's free only because some hot shot orthodontist from Spokane got food poisoning and is now staying in the hospital. I pass on the suggestion to not eat next door at Dot's Good Diner."

"Noted. And the other room?"

"My badge and I were a little insistent that another room had to be available. Sometimes the manager's grandkids stay in the old shelter for fun, so he keeps it up and managed to remember about it after a little wheedling."

She sighs but sincerely says, "Thank you for trying, Mulder."

"It would've been nice to have finally had an excuse to stay somewhere expensive with carpeted halls because the town is otherwise booked, but maybe next time," he says, grinning at her in a way that should probably annoy her bur doesn't. She grins right back.

"C'mon Scully," he says, starting to walk back to the trunk, "let's go check out the last two rooms in New Orleans."

Each with luggage in hand, Mulder and Scully stand speechless in front of the open door to the fallout shelter room. They've stayed in some curiously suspect places before, but nothing really compares to this silver, bullet-shaped hole accented with army green everything.

"Do you think we can ride in this thing to Reticula, Scully?"

The room did look an awful lot like a retro space capsule. "I wouldn't be against lighting a fire under it to try and launch it somewhere."

"I'll let you explain that cost on our expense report."

"So, do you want to stay in here, Mulder?"

He looks at her wide-eyed like she's a Reticulan who just stepped out of the silver/green pod with greetings for Earth.

"Do YOU want to stay in here, Scully?"

"Okay, unfair question," she concedes.

They both stare back into the little shelter space. The walls are curved such that the only real place to walk is on a straight, central path to the bed taking up all available space at the back of the room. There's a sink and a toilet, both looking thankfully made of stainless steel, bolted to the walls. There is no furniture other than the bed, though a green plastic trunk sits at the foot of the bed. The bed is indeed more cot-like than bed-like, but it looks heavily-covered in linens and is topped with two pillows. It is, however, awfully short, almost like a child's bed. There's a long empty series of metal shelves on the side walls. There are no little complementary bars of soap by the sink.

She's so tired that the place gains appeal as she stares at it. Those pillows look awfully fluffy.

"I can stay here, Mulder."

"Wuh?" he says, sounding much like Scooby Doo.

"Really. I'm so tired that I only need a place to set down my bag, wash my face, and go to sleep."

"Are you sure?" He sounds very confused.

"Yes. If you'll let me shower in the room tomorrow morning," she adds in a burst of late-night sensibility.

"Sure, sure. Are you really okay with this?" he asks, waving his hand in the doorway.

"Can't hurt for you to owe me one, Mulder," she says, shooting him a playful smile.

"I think I already owe you much more than one, Scully," he says, squeezing her shoulder. "Good night, and thanks. I'll see you in the morning." And with that, he walks off into the darkness, leaving her standing at the precipice of a fallout shelter with a tingling shoulder and a sudden but stalled urge to run after him to the room.

Scully's soon locked tight inside the shelter and sitting on the bed, feet dangling off the edge. The sole light reflects brightly off the shiny walls to give everything a clinical glow. She can't hear anything from inside this fortified tin can. It's like she's in a hospital room. Or lying in a hospital with a large cylindrical machine rotating around her immobile body.

She flops back on the bed and closes her eyes. The green comforter is very scratchy, but the pillow feels even more abrasive.

She is not fond of this room - or of sleep right now after all.

After waiting what feels like an A-For-Effort amount of time, Scully peels herself off the bed, leaves the shelter, and walks across the parking lot. She can see lights on through the curtains in Mulder's room, so at least she knows he's still awake. Closer to Mulder's door, she can hear the dull drone of the TV. Her room only had a radio with giant silver knobs on top of the trunk.

She stands in front of the door for a while, wondering what to do. Go back to her so-called room and use staying there as bargaining leverage for anything she wants in the next year because it's just that unpleasant? Knock on his door, prolonging sleep for both of them when they really should be as well rested as possible when they go to Tulane tomorrow? Knock on his door and have to explain why she wants to stay with him without making it sound like she wants to stay with him?

She knocks on the door.

Mulder calls out, "Who is it?"

"It's me."

"It's open."

For all the times people have barged into rooms one or the other of them have occupied, you'd think that by now he'd know to lock the damn door. Or maybe he's just come to terms with the fact that anybody who wants to get him will get him one way or another.

She walks in to find him sprawled stomach-down on the bed and staring at the TV.

"I was wondering how long it'd be before you graced my midnight doorstep, Scully." He's still watching TV.

"That room is traumatic, Mulder."

"Six years, not too bad. Though really not too good either."

"There are actual military issue sheets on the bed. Do you know the thread count of military issue sheets? I'm not even sure they use fabric so much as threads of scrap metal."

He finally turns from the TV to her. "Not quite that tired, Scully?"

She's grateful that he does not mention how she's not in pajamas but still in her work suit.

"Apparently not. I think you have all the case work. Can I borrow some? Maybe read myself to sleep?"

"Sure," he says, turning the TV off by remote. "But I was going to go through everything again tonight, so would you mind staying here and sharing?"

He does know that this visit is all about avoiding her room and not about being with him, doesn't he? Because it fully is, she drills into her head. It's not the first time she and Mulder have looked over case information in a motel room, though it may be the first time she's seriously entertaining not going back to her room when they're done. Teeny tiny hard cot, she reminds herself. It's not about Mulder but that fallout shelter hospital hovel.

"I think this setting will do," Scully says as she kicks off her shoes and sinks into a cushy armchair next to a small table.

Mulder digs all the case file papers out of his bag, and they divide everything up. She spends the next half hour or so reading notes and background material Mulder gathered that afternoon. Only the sound of shuffling papers rustles between them. She's shuffling a lot right now, wondering if they have any actual facts about this case as everything she's seen and heard about this so-called case so far seems to be second hand information gathered somehow by Mulder.

Trying not to let her fatigue and frustration explode into something she'd regret, she calmly asks, "Do we have any sort of firsthand knowledge of this skeleton?"

"The newspaper article has some photographs and quotes from students."

Of course he ended up with that set of papers. "Let's hear it." She closes her eyes and collapses into the soft back of the chair as Mulder shuffles through his papers.

"Here's one bit." He reads, "The skeleton is not disturbing everyone. 'I've never heard anything from the skeleton, and I know I'm not the only one who's often in the lab but has never seen or heard anything out of the ordinary,' says Mark Hunground, a first year med student taking a lab course in room 508."

"That is not very helpful."

"There are more observational quotes. 'While the lab's staying open its normal hours, students are making decreased use of it. "It's hard getting work done when some old dead guy is talking in the corner creeping up the room, especially when the building's practically deserted," says a twenty-two year old student who wishes to remain anonymous.'"

"Hey, stop a minute," she says sitting up, eyes popping open with sudden interest. "University labs usually have long hours, sometimes 24/7."

"Tonight could involve some long hours."

"Yes, yes it could," she agrees.

They turn to each other and share a look of relief and renewed purpose. They break eye contact before any regret can sneak in. No further discussion is necessary. They both start packing up the spread-out case file with a sort of ordered mayhem.

Given the late hour, it's a quick drive on pretty deserted roads and they easily find a parking space close to the lab. Soon thereafter, they're at the lab building's front doors. Which are locked. They stand and stare at them for a while, occasionally jiggling the handles just to make sure.

"I don't suppose you have a secret skeleton key good for all labs, do you, Scully?"

"Sorry, Mulder."

"How about a lock picking kit?"

"Well, yes, but--"

"But what? Our skeleton awaits!"

"'But what,' Mulder? Breaking and entering is a criminal offense. I know, we've done it before, but here we have no just cause. And no urgency. We're in a well lit area. Someone could come by at any moment, report us, and we'd be hauled away before our investigation ever starts. Or, we could patiently wait here and a student could come along and let us in without us having to break the law."

He raises an eyebrow at her. "Would you have let two strangers into your school lab after midnight?"

She's silent.

"Exactly. We have no choice."

"There's always a choice, Mulder."

?: How should Mulder and Scully get inside the building?

If you want them to legally get inside, go to section I.

If you want them to break in, go to section J.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Section H

"Seems like there aren't any rooms available," Mulder says.

"Well, get back in the car and we'll go somewhere else."

"No, no rooms are available in the city."

She doesn't open her eyes because heaven help him if he's smiling. "In the city?"

"There's a huge dental convention in town and everything's filled. No cavities, Scully."

"Stop kidding, Mulder."

"No kidding. New Orleans is filled to capacity. It's like Mardi Gras but without any beads or parades."

"Maybe we can find something somewhere. Get back in the car, and we'll keep looking."

He silently agrees by walking around to the driver's side and getting in the car.

They drove around for over an hour, stopping at every hotel, motel, motor lodge, motor court, and arguably accommodating establishment they saw. Both of them maintained a surprising optimism of eventual success, but cheery attitudes aren't all they're cracked up to be.

Now sitting in the parking lot of the Party Mardi Motel and Bar, Scully's staring straight ahead with what she suspects is a very glassy-eyed gaze. She's half tempted to see how far she can tilt back her seat and to go to sleep now. The giant neon dancing crawfish shining bright red on her face is about the only thing stopping her. She grimaces.

"You feeling okay, Scully?" Mulder inquires after a few seconds of silent sitting.

"Sure, I'm fine." She doesn't offer any further reassurances. She does, however, yawn.

"So, uh..." He trails off, confused but probably not wanting to push her too hard given that he's responsible for this little trip. Rightly so.

"So, uh," she echoes, breaking her stare to look over at him, "how long before we call it quits?"

"Quits? You mean go back to Washington?"

"No, until we park somewhere and call it a night."

"Are you asking me to park with you, Scully? If so, I say now."

"This lot has a little too much 'Party' for parking. And by that I mean sleeping, Mulder."

"Darker is better. I agree."

"For sleeping," she reminds him even though she knows he knows and isn't really suggesting otherwise. He never really is, she doesn't think. "Next motel is our last?"

"Yeah. I hate dentists."

"They are easy to hate, especially now."

Continuing down the road, they fairly soon reach another motel hanging a "No Vacancy" sign, the parking lot allotted a significantly lower neon lights budget than the previous one. Mulder pulls into a space next to a huge van hitched to a U-Haul trailer. If it would be a problem for a non-paying customer to park in the lot, that driving monstrosity effectively blocks sight of their small sedan from the motel's front office. He shuts off the ignition but leaves on power for the interior lights.

Neither she nor Mulder move or speak. Minutes pass.

She can already tell that this night will be such a joy.

After a couple more minutes of silence, Scully reaches to recline her seat, which prompts Mulder to do the same. Now they're half-sitting, half-lying in the quiet near-dark.

A few minutes elapse before one of them can't stand it anymore.

"Do you want me to read you a bedtime story, Scully?"

"No, that's okay."

"I've got a Taurus manual and a case file. Your choice," he continues.

"How about you make up a story?" He should have to make payment of some sort for this unfortunate night.

"Like a story about two ghosts with a Christmas Eve lovers pact?"

She reaches over and thwaps his arm. "You made that all up? I knew it!"

He dramatically rubs his attacked arm as if she really hurt him. "I wouldn't lie to you, Scully. That was at the very least based on a true story. That's why I asked if you wanted a story like that one - one based on truth but fit for a late night spin."

"I can't believe you made that up," she says, shaking her head in half-mocking indignation.

"Why, because it all held so true?"

Scully doesn't have to look at Mulder to know he's smiling. Broadly. God, Mulder can be so annoying. It's a good thing she already fancies him.

"You know," she says, "I think hearing something from the case file will put me right to sleep."

"You're no fun, Scully."

"Especially," she continues, ignoring him and not mentioning how he wouldn't think she was so boring if he knew she just entertained a spontaneous thought about fancying him, "given that monotone voice of yours."

"Be careful, I'm going to start hating you more than dentists pretty soon."

"Come on, read to me, Mulder." She hopes he heard the purr she injected in there.

"Yes, Ma'am." Yes, he heard it.

After a bit of back seat fumbling, Mulder gets the case file in hand and begins reading. Bless him for starting with the newspaper article and not the case requisition form. She knows she should probably listen to him and maybe figure something new out about the case, but his droning voice does have a sort of calming, sleep-inducing effect. Something to remember. She toes off her shoes and sighs.

A sentence a ways into the article nevertheless manages to catch her attention.

"While the lab's staying open its normal hours," Mulder reads, "students are making decreased use of it. 'It's hard getting work done when some old dead guy is talking in the corner creeping up the room, especially when the building's practically deserted,' says a twenty-two year old student who wishes to remain anonymous."

"Hey, stop a minute," she says, her eyes popping open and her voice startling Mulder. "University labs usually have long hours, sometimes 24/7."

"Tonight could involve some long hours."

"Yes, yes it could," she agrees.

They turn to each other across the armrest and share a look of relief and renewed purpose. They break eye contact before any regret can sneak in. No further discussion is necessary. They both restore their seats to their full and upright positions, and he starts the car.

"Tell me the way, Navigator," Mulder says as they leave to start their investigation a little earlier than planned. Given the late hour, it's a quick drive on pretty deserted roads and he easily finds a parking space close to the lab. Soon thereafter, they're at the lab building's front doors. Which are locked. They stand and stare at them for a while, occasionally jiggling the handles just to make sure.

"I don't suppose you have a secret skeleton key you never told me about that's good for all labs, do you, Scully?"

"Sorry, Mulder."

"How about a lock picking kit?"

"Well, yes, but--"

"But what? Our skeleton awaits!"

"'But what,' Mulder? Breaking and entering is a criminal offense. I know, we've done it before, but here we have no just cause. And no urgency. We're in a well lit area. Someone could come by at any moment, report us, and we'd be hauled away before our investigation ever starts. Or, we could patiently wait here and a student could come along and let us in without us having to break the law."

He raises an eyebrow at her. "Would you have let two strangers into your school lab after midnight?"

She's silent.

"Exactly. We have no choice."

"There's always a choice, Mulder."

?: How should Mulder and Scully get inside the building?

If you want them to legally get inside, go to section I.

If you want them to break in, go to section J.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Section I

At Scully's request they walk around the entire building looking for an open entrance. Despite lights being on inside, they find nothing but locked doors by the time they've circled back to the front. Mulder stares at Scully, waiting for her to take the lead since his pro-break-in position has already been established.

After a few silent moments, Scully offers, "This is a university, right Mulder? Universities always have patrolling officers, or at least a security booth."

"You want to turn our late night sleuthing from finding the fantastic skeleton to finding boring campus security?"

"Of course not," she says without adding an endnote like "you insufferable crank." "We just need to call them here to open the door for us."

"Once again, Agent Scully expertly hits on the simplest of solutions."

It took a few connections to find the proper office, but Scully reaches campus security on her cell phone with little problem. At the sound of "FBI," she was assured that a security officer would be dispatched to their location.

"It might be a few minutes, Mulder. Seems that on nights of football games, security officers are quite busy around here."

"It's the Steven Smith connection, Scully. Football and chaos surround all Steven Smiths!"

"Investigating that can be our next X-File," she replies as she sits down on one of the steps leading to the building's front doors. He sits next to her while playfully muttering, "Promises, promises."

"You know, Mulder, I don't think I've been in a med school lab since I was actually in med school."

"Do you miss it?"

"Med school? No!"

"You didn't enjoy the order? The daily exposure to new things and deep dives required to understand them?"

"But I get that now, Mulder. Just without the order."

He smirks.

She continues, "My medical education was stressful and overwhelming in a way that the FBI isn't." Mulder's face barely changes expression, but she can tell she's surprised him. "For instance, I completely forgot my own birthday when studying for my medical boards. That hasn't happened at the Bureau."

"I know." 

"You know?"

"You told me that once about the boards." Her brow furrows in a failed attempt at remembrance, so Mulder fills in, "Jack Willis. Our first year."

Even though he demonstrates it regularly, Scully still hasn't gotten used to Mulder remembering so well everything she says. It embarrasses her to be the target of his focus even as it pleases her professionally as well as personally. So, despite that case not being a particularly good memory, she cannot help but smile at Mulder. He smiles back. This lasts for what feels to Scully like a long time, even after they've turned their faces away from each other.

Breaking the silence, Mulder dances his hands in front of him with fingers up and excitedly says, "We're going to hear a skeleton talk soon! Soo-oo-oon!"

"Mulder, I remind you that this is an actual case Skinner expects a report on. Please try to be serious."

"Sorry," he says as he presses his hands together and hides them between his bent knees.

She didn't mean to sound like such a schoolmarm, although that's difficult to avoid since it's her ingrained default from years of trying to prove herself and be taken seriously at university studying physics, at med school studying everything, at Quantico teaching, and even at the FBI after being assigned to the X-Files. But that's not Mulder's fault. He doesn't make her feel like she needs to prove her worth or like he isn't taking everything she says into thoughtful account.

Except when he's blindly ignoring all sense and dismissing everything and everyone in the face of something his tractor beam mind has decided upon with 100% conviction, no matter how dangerous or misguided, like when he decides it's a good idea to drill holes in his head or run off alone to a nuclear submarine stuck in ice. Then he's a massive pain and deserves much worse than the schoolmarm treatment. But most of the time he's a true partner who listens to her with more focused attention and gravity than she thinks she perhaps deserves and who definitely gives every X-Files case earnest consideration. 

She's still so tired and knows she spoke hastily. She needs to do a quick repair.

"Be serious, Mulder. Skeletons can't dance upside down, they're right side up," she says while waving her hands inverted from Mulder's, with fingers down like little legs. 

A beam of light hits their grinning faces as a black and white cart rolls around the corner with headlights shining. Security has arrived.

After the minor formalities of introductions and badge flashing, the security officer asks, "You want in here in the middle of the night for what again, exactly?"

Mulder and Scully glance at each other before Mulder starts to speak.

?: Should the guard react with understanding?

For yes, go to section K.

For no, go to section L.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Section J

At Scully's request they walk around the entire building, but they end up back at the front not having found an unlocked door.

"The only choice I see now, Scully, is whether you unlock the door or I do."

Scully sighs a heavy sigh. They stand unmoving for a few quiet moments. Then Mulder pokes his hand into her bag while it's still firmly hanging on her shoulder. He fishes around. She swats at him and exclaims, "Mulder! Stop!" Expressionless, he draws out his hand.

"You're so slow with locks. Let me do it," Scully says.

At that, Mulder's face quickly transitions from having no expression. His pleasure and anticipation is accentuated by him lightly bouncing on the balls of his feet. She can't say she blames him. This, unlike the ball bearing autopsy, is very FBI. Blatant illegality aside.

"C'mon, Mulder, stand still. Block the street view," she requests as she leans down to better examine the lock. Mulder need only hover his large frame over her for a very short time before she pops open the lock.

"Your skill set never fails to impress, Scully," Mulder says with a haughty reverence in a way she knows he saves for obfuscating personal truth. As his sentence fades, he pushes open the door for her to enter first. She feels the faint press of his free hand at the small of her back for the brief time it takes her to walk through the door. 

There's a stairwell immediately to the right. In front of them extends a long, straight hallway lined with a series of closed doors. It's silent inside.

For lack of better direction, they start walking down the hall. Soon they see a directory mounted on the wall in a glass case next to an elevator. "508 was in the paper, Scully. See there, that's our room."

On the elevator ride up to the 5th floor, Mulder starts lightly bouncing again and intones, "Ooooo...eeeee...ooooo! Skel...e...ton!"

"Mulder, I remind you that this is an actual case Skinner expects a report on. Please try to be serious."

"Sorry," he says as his feet shuffle on the well-scuffed elevator floor.

She didn't mean to sound like such a schoolmarm, although that's difficult to avoid since it's her ingrained default from years of trying to prove herself and be taken seriously at university studying physics, at med school studying everything, at Quantico teaching, and even at the FBI after being assigned to the X-Files. But that's not Mulder's fault. He doesn't make her feel like she needs to prove her worth or like he isn't taking everything she says into thoughtful account.

Except when he's blindly ignoring all sense and dismissing everything and everyone in the face of something his tractor beam mind has decided upon with 100% conviction, no matter how dangerous or misguided, like when he decides it's a good idea to drill holes in his head or run off alone to a nuclear submarine stuck in ice. Then he's a massive pain and deserves much worse than the schoolmarm treatment. But most of the time he's a true partner who listens to her with more focused attention and gravity than she thinks she perhaps deserves and who definitely gives every X-Files case earnest consideration. 

She's still so tired and knows she spoke hastily. She needs to do a quick repair.

"Seriously, Mulder," she says in what she hopes is a soft mocking tone. "Skeletons are bones, not ghosts. They don't moan like that, they rattle."

The elevator doors open and accentuate Scully's point with a ding.

The ding is muffled by a barking repetitive buzz coming from the hallway in which they are now standing.

"Uh oh, Scully." She nods in agreement as they hold their hands over their ears, looking at each other with wide eyes.

The buzzing soon stops, but it's replaced by the worse sound of clomping footsteps: the mark a loud run. Someone is quickly approaching from the hall bisecting theirs. Mulder is the first to address the situation.

"Scully, we need to right now fake like we just happened to be in here and have nothing to do with any break-in."

Scully looks skeptical.

"Quick," he says, "let's pretend to be making out."

"Pretend?"

At that moment a security officer turns the corner into their hallway and shouts, "Hey!," but Mulder gapes at Scully, not at the guard.

"Who are you two? What are you doing here?"

From years of practice, Mulder and Scully have their badges out in front of them in no time.

?: Should the guard react with understanding?

For yes, go to section M.

For no, go to section N.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Section K

"Oh, the skeleton? Sure I know about it, it's been a laugh."

Mulder starts to smile at the guard's sympathetic reaction, but then the guard says, "Wait, for real? The FBI wants to see this skeleton? In the middle of the night?"

"Yes," says Mulder, choosing to go with the straightforward approach.

The guard looks at Scully, so she says yes in agreement with Mulder to help get this show on the road. If they get turned away and have to go sleep so be it. Sleep still sounds heavenly. But she's not so tired that she completely forgets what sleeping accommodations await should they be denied building access. This thought prompts her to add, "If you let us in, Officer Douglas, it would really help us move forward and help get this building, these students, back to normal by settling what's happening here once and for all, probably even before any students have to be here for lab in the morning. They've had enough disruption from their studies."

"Well Miss, I mean Ma'am, I mean Agent, when you put it that way," the guard stutters. He hasn't stopped looking at Scully since they pulled out their badges, even when Mulder was the one speaking.

"Great, let's go," Mulder says as he slaps a hand on the guard's shoulder, turning him toward the front doors and away from Scully.

She should not find that amusing or a source of pride, but she does. There was a time when something like that would have bothered her for the duration of a case, if not longer, because she does not need protecting by Mulder or anybody else, but she's firmly okay with being Mulder's protectorate before the three of them are even inside the building.

After all, it's become ingrained that she would step up unasked to protect him, for anything big or small.

"Small" is the keyword here for Mulder's quick diversion of the guard because no protecting was necessary, but she recognized and appreciated it nonetheless.

Just inside the doors, there's a stairwell immediately to the right. In front of them extends a long, straight hallway lined with a series of closed doors. It's silent in the building.

Mulder speaks into the quiet, "The newspaper mentioned the lab being in room 508. So--"

"That's up on the fifth floor," interrupts the security officer. "Here, I'll show you. The elevator's down here," he says as he steps aside, framing Mulder between his back and the wall to allow him to swing his arm in an exaggerated arc to usher Scully toward the elevator.

"Thank you, but I'm sure we'll be fine finding the room," Scully says. "We don't want to keep you from your duties."

"Right now this is my duty," the officer says seriously.

In the elevator Scully rolls her eyes at Mulder when the guard leans forward to press "5." They do not look at each other again until they are walking in the 5th floor hallway because it was abundantly apparent that any further unspoken communication would lead to at least one of highly inappropriate laughter and Mulder vocalizing what Scully was saying.

The guard opens the door to room 508 by simply turning the doorknob.

"Lab rooms aren't kept locked?" asks Mulder.

"No," Scully and the guard answer in unison. Scully feels that another eye roll is in order, but she is aware that Mulder is not the only man looking at her right now.

Mulder continues to probe, "Even with the hubbub surrounding the skeleton? Unlocked?"

"Agent," the guard directs at Mulder in annoyance while flipping on the room's light switch, "the university does not deviate from security protocols unless there is a necessary, serious, vetted reason. An occasionally muttering skeleton does not count."

"Maybe it should," Mulder ponders. "Who knows what kind of electronic device plants and other tampering is happening by who knows who in here."

"Simple tampering, Agent Mulder? Interesting theory," Scully remarks for her own amusement at Mulder's expense.

Mulder merely holds out his hand and asks, "Magnet?" Scully gives him one from the supply of oddities in her bag that have worked their way in there over her years with Mulder. She once ended a loud argument between Langley and Frohike in their dank nerdy lair over who caused their last 20 Ohm resistor to slide all but lost under a giant bookshelf by grabbing a flat plastic alien stuck to a metal filing cabinet and using its bendy magnetic limbs to fish out the resistor. She gave back the alien, but she kept the idea of a magnet being handy.

Mulder walks away toward the skeleton in the corner. He has found the skeleton and is unable to be anything other than on a transfixed mission of encounter.

The room looks very ordinary to Scully. It is a tidy rectangular space. Rows of metal tables are arranged throughout the room. Robust adjustable lights hang above each table. Large whiteboards are mounted on each of the room's two shorter walls, with the skeleton hanging next to one of them and a long instructor's table being in front of the other. On the whiteboard by the instructor's table someone has drawn a cartoon skull with a word balloon saying "BOO!" Along one long wall next to the skeleton is a sort of apothecary cabinet with stacked rows of sizable wooden cubbies. Each one has a little white label and a keyhole, which she presumes means that they serve as student lockers. There is one closed door on the far side of the room away from the skeleton and near a few metal sinks. Anatomical posters hang throughout the room. There are no windows.

Scully leaves the guard in the doorway and starts to case the room, carefully looking in turn at each table and its light for anything out of the ordinary.

"Um...," the guard says by the door while shuffling back and forth.

"Scully," Mulder says, "let me know if you see anything." He didn't even turn around to see what she was doing, yet he seemingly instinctively knew she was starting her own quiet investigation. Or maybe he was giving her an instruction as if she hadn't yet realized it might be helpful to look for anything of note. Her years of experience in this partnership make Scully err on the side of him just knowing. Much in the way she says while staring at a table, "Let me know if the magnet reacts to anything."

"Um...," the guard again says meaninglessly.

Mulder has reached the skeleton, Scully notices as she moves from one table to another. They are each silently focused on their own parts of the room, with Mulder standing by the skeleton and Scully softly padding from table to table. Minutes pass. The only discernable sound is the guard's still-shuffling feet.

"Well, uh, it looks like y'all are good, so, uh...," the guard trails away.

Scully knows that the chances of Mulder acknowledging anything other than the skeleton right now are about nil, so she turns her head to the guard and says, "Yes, thank you, Officer. I believe we have things under control."

He nods.

"May we see ourselves out shortly?" she asks him. He again nods but still does not leave. Scully smiles and thanks him again. He only then backs into the hall while saying something about her knowing how to reach him if she needs anything at all. That did it, he needed a sort of parting gift. Good grief, Scully thinks to herself.

Scully turns from the doorway, and her eyes fall on Mulder. She stares for a while, mesmerized by Mulder's focus on the skeleton as he gently draws the magnet over and around every individual bone with a slow, deliberate flow. He is oblivious to everything but the skeleton right now, she knows. She thinks she could strip down and writhe around on one of these tables, and he would not take any note.

She is tired but she is not tired enough to know that she should not road test this theory. After all, the guard may not even be out of the hall yet.

Entertaining that thought no matter how much in jest shocks her system away from the tables and toward the cabinet.

Soon thereafter her voice cuts through the silence with "Mulder." He keeps his gaze fixed on the skeleton as he continues skimming it with the magnet, but he does reply by saying her name.

"Mulder, the skeleton has a cubby in this cabinet. The cubby labels are all typed with names except one that's handwritten with 'Talking Skeleton.'"

"What's in it?"

Scully pulls the drawer's handle and is surprised when it slides right open. "A Tulane ball cap, a Post-it that says 'HELLO, my name is Mr. Chattybones,' and a bunch of rolls of gauze." She sighs. "Mulder, this is pointless."

"You're right. What does a skeleton need with gauze?"

"That's not quite what I meant."

"Well," Mulder says, suddenly straightening up and turning toward Scully, "the skeleton doesn't seem to have any hidden speakers or wires."

"Too bad."

"Too bad? This is great!" He grins with supernatural glee.

This is a banner night for warranted eye rolls.

"Now that you're unglued from the skeleton, Mulder, let's check out what's behind the door here." Walking away from the only arguable clues they have about the skeleton is a small price to pay to not only focus Mulder's glee but to be able to be closer to his excited glow. She has a strong love-hate relationship with that glow. Tonight, late, droopy-eyed, and sleep deprived, it's love.

Behind the door lurks a supply closet. It's a crowded closet, but all Scully can see are the neat piles of folded surgical drapes at its far wall. "Mulder, that looks like a bed."

"Yes, yes it does, Scully."

Scully looks up at Mulder with heavy-lidded eyes, forlorn.

?: Should Scully go to sleep in the supply room?

For no, go to section O.

For yes, go to section P.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Section L

"We're here on FBI business," says Mulder, as both agents pull out their badges with practiced ease.

"The FBI? I thought the office had to be kidding me about that when they sent me out here. What is the FBI doing here?"

"We were under the impression that there was a disturbance in the lab here," Mulder says.

"Disturbance? The lab? You don't mean that skeleton thing, do you?" Despite Mulder speaking, the officer directs this at Scully, who he has not stopped looking at since their badges came out.

Scully shrugs her shoulders. She cannot in good faith make a case for a middle of the night emergency skeleton hunt to another member of law enforcement.

Mulder steps in. Literally. He inches closer to the officer, moving diagonally to also now be standing a bit in front of Scully.

She should not find Mulder's alpha male positioning amusing or a source of pride, but she does. There was a time when something like that would have bothered her for the duration of a case, if not longer, because she is not a possession and does not need protecting by Mulder or anybody else, but she's firmly okay with being Mulder's protectorate at the moment.

After all, it's become ingrained that she would step up unasked to protect him, for anything big or small.

"Small" is the keyword here for Mulder's quick blocking was not necessary in any way, but she recognized and appreciated it nonetheless. 

Especially because it turned out to be on point, as Mulder's intuitions are annoyingly apt to be, for the guard shifts in position following Mulder's movement, restoring his full view of both agents. As much as Scully would like to believe the officer is keeping a keen clear eye on them as suspicious potential felons, it's already too late to entertain such a thought.

Scully knows she's the one who has to work their way into the lab.

She asks as sweetly as possible for a reluctant skeleton investigator who doesn’t particularly want to encourage or even acknowledge the guard's instant crush, "So you know about the skeleton, Officer Douglas?"

"Yes, but..."

Scully arches an eyebrow at his broken sentence to urge its completion.

"...you can't possibly need to see it now, to be here now." He pulls out his walkie talkie on the ready. "And nobody pre-notified my office of any such investigation like they're supposed to."

Part of Scully wants to agree, to just leave and go sleep away the rest of the night. Sleep still sounds heavenly. But she's not so tired that she completely forgets what sleeping accommodations await should they be denied building access. Nor does she want to disappoint Mulder, who clearly loves this ridiculous skeleton sight unseen.

These thoughts prompt her to add, "If we can proceed with investigating now, Officer Douglas, it would really help us move forward and help get this building, these students, back to normal by settling what's happening here once and for all, probably even before any students have to be here for lab in the morning. They've had enough disruption from their studies."

"Well Miss, I mean Ma'am, I mean Agent, when you put it that way," the guard stutters.

"Great, let's go," Mulder says as he slaps a hand on the guard's shoulder, turning him toward the front doors and away from Scully.

The officer unlocks the doors and comes with them into the building. Just inside the doors, there's a stairwell immediately to the right. In front of them extends a long, straight hallway lined with a series of closed doors. It's silent in the building.

Mulder speaks into the quiet, "The newspaper mentioned the lab being in room 508. So--"

"That's up on the fifth floor," interrupts the security officer. "Here, I'll show you. The elevator's down here," he says as he steps aside, framing Mulder between his back and the wall to allow him to swing his arm in an exaggerated arc to usher Scully toward the elevator.

"Thank you, but I'm sure we'll be fine finding the room," Scully says. "We don't want to keep you from your duties."

"Right now this is my duty," the officer says seriously.

In the elevator Scully rolls her eyes at Mulder when the guard leans forward to press "5." They do not look at each other again until they are walking in the 5th floor hallway because it was abundantly apparent that any further unspoken communication would lead to at least one of highly inappropriate laughter and Mulder vocalizing what Scully was saying.

The guard opens the door to room 508 by simply turning the doorknob.

"Lab rooms aren't kept locked?" asks Mulder.

"No," Scully and the guard answer in unison. Scully feels that another eye roll is in order, but she is aware that Mulder is not the only man looking at her right now.

Mulder continues to probe, "Even with the hubbub surrounding the skeleton? Unlocked?"

"Agent," the guard directs at Mulder in annoyance while flipping on the room's light switch, "the university does not deviate from security protocols unless there is a necessary, serious, vetted reason. An occasionally muttering skeleton does not count."

"Maybe it should," Mulder ponders. "Who knows what kind of electronic device plants and other tampering is happening by who knows who in here."

"Simple tampering, Agent Mulder? Interesting theory," Scully remarks for her own amusement at Mulder's expense.

Mulder merely holds out his hand and asks, "Magnet?" Scully gives him one from the supply of oddities in her bag that have worked their way in there over her years with Mulder. She once ended a loud argument between Langley and Frohike in their dank nerdy lair over who caused their last 20 Ohm resistor to slide all but lost under a giant bookshelf by grabbing a flat plastic alien stuck to a metal filing cabinet and using its bendy magnetic limbs to fish out the resistor. She gave back the alien, but she kept the idea of a magnet being handy.

Mulder walks away toward the skeleton in the corner. He has found the skeleton and is unable to be anything other than on a transfixed mission of encounter.

The room looks very ordinary to Scully. It is a tidy rectangular space. Rows of metal tables are arranged throughout the room. Robust adjustable lights hang above each table. Large whiteboards are mounted on each of the room's two shorter walls, with the skeleton hanging next to one of them and a long instructor's table being in front of the other. On the whiteboard by the instructor's table someone has drawn a cartoon skull with a word balloon saying "BOO!" Along one long wall next to the skeleton is a sort of apothecary cabinet with stacked rows of sizable wooden cubbies. Each one has a little white label and a keyhole, which she presumes means that they serve as student lockers. There is one closed door on the far side of the room away from the skeleton and near a few metal sinks. Anatomical posters hang throughout the room. There are no windows.

Scully leaves the guard in the doorway and starts to case the room, carefully looking in turn at each table and its light for anything out of the ordinary.

"Um...," the guard says by the door while shuffling back and forth.

"Scully," Mulder says, "let me know if you see anything." He didn't even turn around to see what she was doing, yet he seemingly instinctively knew she was starting her own quiet investigation. Or maybe he was giving her an instruction as if she hadn't yet realized it might be helpful to look for anything of note. Her years of experience in this partnership make Scully err on the side of him just knowing. Much in the way she says while staring at a table, "Let me know if the magnet reacts to anything."

"Um...," the guard again says meaninglessly.

Mulder and Scully are each silently focused on their own parts of the room, with Mulder standing by the skeleton and Scully softly padding from table to table. Minutes pass. The only discernable sound is the guard's still-shuffling feet.

"Well, uh, it looks like y'all are good, so, uh...," the guard trails away.

Scully knows that the chances of Mulder acknowledging anything other than the skeleton right now are about nil, so she turns her head to the guard and says, "Yes, thank you, Officer. I believe we have things under control."

He nods.

"May we see ourselves out shortly?" she asks him. He again nods but still does not leave. Scully smiles broadly and thanks him again. He only then backs into the hall while saying something about her knowing how to reach him if she needs anything at all. That did it, he needed a sort of parting gift. Good grief, Scully thinks to herself.

Scully turns from the doorway, and her eyes fall on Mulder. She stares for a while, mesmerized by Mulder's focus on the skeleton as he gently draws the magnet over and around every individual bone with a slow, deliberate flow. He is oblivious to everything but the skeleton right now, she knows. She thinks she could strip down and writhe around on one of these tables, and he would not take any note.

She is tired but she is not tired enough to know that she should not road test this theory. After all, the guard may not even be out of the hall yet.

Entertaining that thought no matter how much in jest shocks her system away from the tables and toward the cabinet.

Soon thereafter her voice cuts through the silence with "Mulder." He keeps his gaze fixed on the skeleton as he continues skimming it with the magnet, but he does reply by saying her name.

"Mulder, the skeleton has a cubby in this cabinet. The cubby labels are all typed with names except one that's handwritten with 'Talking Skeleton.'"

"What's in it?"

Scully pulls the drawer's handle and is surprised when it slides right open. "A Tulane ball cap, a Post-it that says 'HELLO, my name is Mr. Chattybones,' and a bunch of rolls of gauze." She sighs. "Mulder, this is pointless."

"You're right. What does a skeleton need with gauze?"

"That's not quite what I meant."

"Well," Mulder says, suddenly straightening up and turning toward Scully, "the skeleton doesn't seem to have any hidden speakers or wires."

"Too bad."

"Too bad? This is great!" He grins with supernatural glee.

This is a banner night for warranted eye rolls.

"Now that you're unglued from the skeleton, Mulder, let's check out what's behind the door here." Walking away from the only arguable clues they have about the skeleton is a small price to pay to not only focus Mulder's glee but to be able to be closer to his excited glow. She has a strong love-hate relationship with that glow. Now, late, droopy-eyed, and sleep deprived, it's love.

Behind the door lurks a supply closet. It's a crowded closet, but all Scully can see are the neat piles of folded surgical drapes at its far wall. "Mulder, that looks like a bed."

"Yes, yes it does, Scully."

Scully looks up at Mulder with heavy-lidded eyes, forlorn.

?: Should Scully go to sleep in the supply room?

For no, go to section O.

For yes, go to section P.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Section M

"We're here on FBI business," says Mulder.

"Business?" questions the officer.

"We were under the impression that there was a disturbance in the lab here," Mulder says.

"The lab? You mean the skeleton? That's sure been a laugh." Despite Mulder speaking, the officer directs this at Scully, who he has not stopped looking at since their badges came out.

Mulder starts to smile at the guard's sympathetic reaction, but then the guard says, "Wait, for real? The FBI wants to see this skeleton? In the middle of the night?"

"Yes," says Mulder, choosing to go with the straightforward approach.

The guard looks at Scully, so she says yes in agreement with Mulder to help get this show on the road. If they get turned away and have to go sleep so be it. Sleep still sounds heavenly. But she's not so tired that she completely forgets what sleeping accommodations await should they be forcibly removed from the building. This thought prompts her to add, "If you let us in, Officer Douglas, it would really help us move forward and help get this building, these students, back to normal by settling what's happening here once and for all, probably even before any students have to be here for lab in the morning. They've had enough disruption from their studies."

"Well Miss, I mean Ma'am, I mean Agent, when you put it that way," the guard stutters. He still hasn't stopped looking at Scully.

"Great, let's go," Mulder says as he slaps a hand on the guard's shoulder, turning him away from Scully.

She should not find that amusing or a source of pride, but she does. There was a time when something like that would have bothered her for the duration of a case, if not longer, because she does not need protecting by Mulder or anybody else, but she's firmly okay with being Mulder's protectorate before the three of them are even inside the building.

After all, it's become ingrained that she would step up unasked to protect him, for anything big or small.

"Small" is the keyword here for Mulder's quick diversion of the guard because no protecting was necessary, but she recognized and appreciated it nonetheless.

The guard opens the door to room 508 by simply turning the doorknob.

"Lab rooms aren't kept locked?" asks Mulder.

"No," Scully and the guard answer in unison. 

Mulder continues to probe, "Even with the hubbub surrounding the skeleton? Unlocked?"

"Agent," the guard directs at Mulder in annoyance while flipping on the room's light switch, "the university does not deviate from security protocols unless there is a necessary, serious, vetted reason. An occasionally muttering skeleton does not count."

"Maybe it should," Mulder ponders. "Who knows what kind of electronic device plants and other tampering is happening by who knows who in here."

"Simple tampering, Agent Mulder? Interesting theory," Scully remarks for her own amusement at Mulder's expense.

Mulder merely holds out his hand and asks, "Magnet?" Scully gives him one from the supply of oddities in her bag that have worked their way in there over her years with Mulder. She once ended a loud argument between Langley and Frohike in their dank nerdy lair over who caused their last 20 Ohm resistor to slide all but lost under a giant bookshelf by grabbing a flat plastic alien stuck to a metal filing cabinet and using its bendy magnetic limbs to fish out the resistor. She gave back the alien, but she kept the idea of a magnet being handy.

Mulder walks away toward the skeleton in the corner. He has found the skeleton and is unable to be anything other than on a transfixed mission of encounter.

The room looks very ordinary to Scully. It is a tidy rectangular space. Rows of metal tables are arranged throughout the room. Robust adjustable lights hang above each table. Large whiteboards are mounted on each of the room's two shorter walls, with the skeleton hanging next to one of them and a long instructor's table being in front of the other. On the whiteboard by the instructor's table someone has drawn a cartoon skull with a word balloon saying "BOO!" Along one long wall next to the skeleton is a sort of apothecary cabinet with stacked rows of sizable wooden cubbies. Each one has a little white label and a keyhole, which she presumes means that they serve as student lockers. There is one closed door on the far side of the room away from the skeleton and near a few metal sinks. Anatomical posters hang throughout the room. There are no windows.

Scully leaves the guard in the doorway and starts to case the room, carefully looking in turn at each table and its light for anything out of the ordinary.

"Um...," the guard says by the door while shuffling back and forth.

"Scully," Mulder says, "let me know if you see anything." He didn't even turn around to see what she was doing, yet he seemingly instinctively knew she was starting her own quiet investigation. Or maybe he was giving her an instruction as if she hadn't yet realized it might be helpful to look for anything of note. Her years of experience in this partnership make Scully err on the side of him just knowing. Much in the way she says while staring at a table, "Let me know if the magnet reacts to anything."

"Um...," the guard again says meaninglessly.

Mulder and Scully are each silently focused on their own parts of the room, with Mulder standing by the skeleton and Scully softly padding from table to table. Minutes pass. The only discernable sound is the guard's still-shuffling feet.

"Well, uh, it looks like y'all are good, so, uh...," the guard trails away.

Scully knows that the chances of Mulder acknowledging anything other than the skeleton right now are about nil, so she turns her head to the guard and says, "Yes, thank you, Officer. I believe we have things under control."

He nods.

"May we see ourselves out shortly?" she asks him. He again nods but still does not leave. Scully smiles broadly and thanks him again. He only then backs into the hall while saying something about her knowing how to reach him if she needs anything at all. That did it, he needed a sort of parting gift. Good grief, Scully thinks to herself.

Scully turns from the doorway, and her eyes fall on Mulder. She stares for a while, mesmerized by Mulder's focus on the skeleton as he gently draws the magnet over and around every individual bone with a slow, deliberate flow. He is oblivious to everything but the skeleton right now, she knows. She thinks she could strip down and writhe around on one of these tables, and he would not take any note.

She is tired but she is not tired enough to know that she should not road test this theory. After all, the guard may not even be out of the hall yet.

Entertaining that thought no matter how much in jest shocks her system away from the tables and toward the cabinet.

Soon thereafter her voice cuts through the silence with "Mulder." He keeps his gaze fixed on the skeleton as he continues skimming it with the magnet, but he does reply by saying her name.

"Mulder, the skeleton has a cubby in this cabinet. The cubby labels are all typed with names except one that's handwritten with 'Talking Skeleton.'"

"What's in it?"

Scully pulls the drawer's handle and is surprised when it slides right open. "A Tulane ball cap, a Post-it that says 'HELLO, my name is Mr. Chattybones,' and a bunch of rolls of gauze." She sighs. "Mulder, this is pointless."

"You're right. What does a skeleton need with gauze?"

"That's not quite what I meant."

"Well," Mulder says, suddenly straightening up and turning toward Scully, "the skeleton doesn't seem to have any hidden speakers or wires."

"Too bad."

"Too bad? This is great!" He grins with supernatural glee.

This is a banner night for warranted eye rolls.

"Now that you're unglued from the skeleton, Mulder, let's check out what's behind the door here." Walking away from the only arguable clues they have about the skeleton is a small price to pay to not only focus Mulder's glee but to be able to be closer to his excited glow. She has a strong love-hate relationship with that glow. Now, late, droopy-eyed, and sleep deprived, it's love.

Behind the door lurks a supply closet. It's a crowded closet, but all Scully can see are the neat piles of folded surgical drapes at its far wall. "Mulder, that looks like a bed."

"Yes, yes it does, Scully."

Scully looks up at Mulder with heavy-lidded eyes, forlorn.

?: Should Scully go to sleep in the supply room?

For no, go to section O.

For yes, go to section P.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Section N

"The FBI?" the guard asks incredulously. "What is the FBI doing here?"

"We are terribly sorry for the confusion, Officer," Scully says as both agents still hold onto their badges but slowly lower them to their sides.

"Douglas. Officer Douglas."

Scully takes that politeness as a step in the right direction.

"We were under the impression that there was a disturbance in the lab here," Mulder says while pointing his hand back at room 508, which they have yet to see.

"Disturbance? The lab? You don't mean that skeleton thing, do you?" Despite Mulder speaking, the officer directs this at Scully, who he has not stopped looking at since their badges came out.

Scully shrugs her shoulders. She cannot in good faith make a case for a middle of the night emergency skeleton hunt to another member of law enforcement.

Mulder steps in. Literally. He inches closer to the officer, moving diagonally to now be standing a bit in front of Scully.

She should not find Mulder's alpha male positioning amusing or a source of pride, but she does. There was a time when something like that would have bothered her for the duration of a case, if not longer, because she is not a possession and does not need protecting by Mulder or anybody else, but she's firmly okay with being Mulder's protectorate at the moment.

After all, it's become ingrained that she would step up unasked to protect him, for anything big or small.

"Small" is the keyword here for Mulder's quick blocking was not necessary in any way, but she recognized and appreciated it nonetheless. 

Especially because it turned out to be on point, as Mulder's intuitions are annoyingly apt to be, for the guard shifts in position following Mulder's movement, restoring his full view of both agents. As much as Scully would like to believe the officer is keeping a keen clear eye on them as suspicious potential felons, it's already too late to entertain such a thought.

Scully knows she's the one who has to work their way into the lab.

She asks as sweetly as possible for one of a trio of gun-toting late-night building invaders, "So you know about the skeleton, Officer Douglas?"

"Yes, but..."

Scully arches an eyebrow at his broken sentence to urge its completion.

"...you can't possibly need to see it now, to be here now." He pulls out his walkie talkie on the ready. "And nobody notified my office of any such thing like they're supposed to."

Part of Scully wants to agree, to just leave and go sleep away the rest of the night. Sleep still sounds heavenly. But she's not so tired that she completely forgets what sleeping accommodations await should they be forcibly removed from the building. Nor does she want to disappoint Mulder, who clearly loves this ridiculous skeleton sight unseen.

These thoughts prompt her to add, "If we can proceed with investigating now, Officer Douglas, it would really help us move forward and help get this building, these students, back to normal by settling what's happening here once and for all, probably even before any students have to be here for lab in the morning. They've had enough disruption from their studies."

"Well Miss, I mean Ma'am, I mean Agent, when you put it that way," the guard stutters.

"Great, let's go," Mulder says as he turns around and heads to the lab. The officer moves to follow him, so Scully quickly follows suit before she has to explain their presence in the building any further.

The guard overtakes the agents and opens the door to room 508 by simply turning the doorknob.

"Lab rooms aren't kept locked?" asks Mulder.

"No," Scully and the guard answer in unison.

Mulder continues to probe, "Even with the hubbub surrounding the skeleton? Unlocked?"

"Agent," the guard directs at Mulder in annoyance while flipping on the room's light switch, "the university does not deviate from security protocols unless there is a necessary, serious, vetted reason. An occasionally muttering skeleton does not count."

"Maybe it should," Mulder ponders. "Who knows what kind of electronic device plants and other tampering is happening by who knows who in here."

"Simple tampering, Agent Mulder? Interesting theory," Scully remarks for her own amusement at Mulder's expense.

Mulder merely holds out his hand and asks, "Magnet?" Scully gives him one from the supply of oddities in her bag that have worked their way in there over her years with Mulder. She once ended a loud argument between Langley and Frohike in their dank nerdy lair over who caused their last 20 Ohm resistor to slide all but lost under a giant bookshelf by grabbing a flat plastic alien stuck to a metal filing cabinet and using its bendy magnetic limbs to fish out the resistor. She gave back the alien, but she kept the idea of a magnet being handy.

Mulder walks away toward the skeleton in the corner. He has found the skeleton and is unable to be anything other than on a transfixed mission of encounter.

The room looks very ordinary to Scully. It is a tidy rectangular space. Rows of metal tables are arranged throughout the room. Robust adjustable lights hang above each table. Large whiteboards are mounted on each of the room's two shorter walls, with the skeleton hanging next to one of them and a long instructor's table being in front of the other. On the whiteboard by the instructor's table someone has drawn a cartoon skull with a word balloon saying "BOO!" Along one long wall next to the skeleton is a sort of apothecary cabinet with stacked rows of sizable wooden cubbies. Each one has a little white label and a keyhole, which she presumes means that they serve as student lockers. There is one closed door on the far side of the room away from the skeleton and near a few metal sinks. Anatomical posters hang throughout the room. There are no windows.

Scully leaves the guard in the doorway and starts to case the room, carefully looking in turn at each table and its light for anything out of the ordinary.

"Um...," the guard says by the door while shuffling back and forth.

"Scully," Mulder says, "let me know if you see anything." He didn't even turn around to see what she was doing, yet he seemingly instinctively knew she was starting her own quiet investigation. Or maybe he was giving her an instruction as if she hadn't yet realized it might be helpful to look for anything of note. Her years of experience in this partnership make Scully err on the side of him just knowing. Much in the way she says while staring at a table, "Let me know if the magnet reacts to anything."

"Um...," the guard again says meaninglessly.

Mulder and Scully are each silently focused on their own parts of the room, with Mulder standing by the skeleton and Scully softly padding from table to table. Minutes pass. The only discernable sound is the guard's still-shuffling feet.

"Well, uh, it looks like y'all are good, so, uh...," the guard trails away.

Scully knows that the chances of Mulder acknowledging anything other than the skeleton right now are about nil, so she turns her head to the guard and says, "Yes, thank you, Officer. I believe we have things under control."

He nods.

"May we see ourselves out shortly?" she asks him. He again nods but still does not leave. Scully smiles broadly and thanks him again. He only then backs into the hall while saying something about her knowing how to reach him if she needs anything at all. That did it, he needed a sort of parting gift. Good grief, Scully thinks to herself.

Scully turns from the doorway, and her eyes fall on Mulder. She stares for a while, mesmerized by Mulder's focus on the skeleton as he gently draws the magnet over and around every individual bone with a slow, deliberate flow. He is oblivious to everything but the skeleton right now, she knows. She thinks she could strip down and writhe around on one of these tables, and he would not take any note.

She is tired but she is not tired enough to know that she should not road test this theory. After all, the guard may not even be out of the hall yet.

Entertaining that thought no matter how much in jest shocks her system away from the tables and toward the cabinet.

Soon thereafter her voice cuts through the silence with "Mulder." He keeps his gaze fixed on the skeleton as he continues skimming it with the magnet, but he does reply by saying her name.

"Mulder, the skeleton has a cubby in this cabinet. The cubby labels are all typed with names except one that's handwritten with 'Talking Skeleton.'"

"What's in it?"

Scully pulls the drawer's handle and is surprised when it slides right open. "A Tulane ball cap, a Post-it that says 'HELLO, my name is Mr. Chattybones,' and a bunch of rolls of gauze." She sighs. "Mulder, this is pointless."

"You're right. What does a skeleton need with gauze?"

"That's not quite what I meant."

"Well," Mulder says, suddenly straightening up and turning toward Scully, "the skeleton doesn't seem to have any hidden speakers or wires."

"Too bad."

"Too bad? This is great!" He grins with supernatural glee.

"Now that you're unglued from the skeleton, Mulder, let's check out what's behind the door here." Walking away from the only arguable clues they have about the skeleton is a small price to pay to not only focus Mulder's glee but to be able to be closer to his excited glow. She has a strong love-hate relationship with that glow. Now, late, droopy-eyed, and sleep deprived, it's love.

Behind the door lurks a supply closet. It's a crowded closet, but all Scully can see are the neat piles of folded surgical drapes at its far wall. "Mulder, that looks like a bed."

"Yes, yes it does, Scully."

Scully looks up at Mulder with heavy-lidded eyes, forlorn.

?: Should Scully go to sleep in the supply room?

For no, go to section O.

For yes, go to section P.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Section O

"Go ahead, Scully," Mulder says as he flicks his chin toward the drapes.

"No, Mulder. No. I am not sleeping here."

"Why not? I'll be right outside."

"Why not?" Scully asks as if this is the dumbest question Mulder has ever asked (which it is not). "Because we are on a case? Because this is a serious institution of learning? Because these are needed lab supplies? Because--"

"Because you're exhausted and could use 20 minutes of rejuvenation."

"Because this room smells like rubbing alcohol? Because I am a grown professional woman? Because--"

"Because of the dentists. Because of me. Because," Mulder sighs, "because it's my fault you're here in the middle of the night, here at all."

Scully didn't imagine this as the way Mulder would eventually persuade her into bed. She also didn't imagine persuasion exactly being needed. Even though she's said nothing out loud, her lips curl into a shy smile and her eyes drift down to the floor and off of Mulder.

Not betraying her thoughts, she says, "We're beyond fault, Mulder. I'm your partner. Of course I'm going to be with you."

He tilts her head up with a light touch of fingers to her chin and returns a shy smile of his own. Oh dear, she thinks, he better not have been thinking the same thing she was just thinking.

She cuts off that line of illicit thought by blurting, "So no, I'm not going to go to sleep and leave you alone at a crime scene in the middle of the night."

"Crime scene?"

"Well, a scene of something." She wishes he would take his hand off her face. She also wishes he wouldn't.

He does.

Standing in the same spot but turning at the waist and moving away his hand to point out through the open door to the lab, he asks, "What *is* going on out there, Scully? Nothing seems remotely out of the ordinary."

"I think maybe you answered your own question, Mulder."

"You don't think the skeleton is talking?"

She does not dignify that with a verbal response.

"Okay, okay," he says, realizing the foolishness of his question given to whom it was directed. "But you think the students in the newspaper were making up the sounds? That they're liars?"

"It's most likely that they did hear unexpected sounds from an unlikely location and are struggling to explain it in their usual studied way," Scully admits. "Maybe they're just so overworked, as med students are apt to be, with their minds so overtaxed, that sounds in their periphery that would typically be easily explained, if not outright ignored in the first place, have taken on a life of their own."

"That wouldn't explain, though, why the sound is only in this lab, and from the skeleton in particular."

"How do we know sounds aren't in other places, in this closet even?" Scully queries as she sweeps her arm back to encase space in the room.

Her thought is cut short when her arm bangs into a mountain of boxes on one of the room's metal supply shelves. The boxes unfortunately contain lightweight bandages, so her motion is enough to cause a large number of them to topple loudly to the ground. Some knocked boxes don't make it to the ground but instead fly over to nearby stacks of surgical tape, causing them to roll off the shelf and careen haphazardly around the room.

Scully's head flops down in frustrated disbelief. Mulder bursts into laughter.

"Well, sound is certainly possible in this room," he helpfully observes.

She glares up at him. He's stopped laughing, but it's still marked on his face with a goofy smile.

"I'll leave you to tend to the confusion in here, Scully. I'll go back out to try to make something of the confusingly conversational skeleton."

"Didn't you already do that, Mulder?"

"I focused directly on him. Now I'll look around the area immediately around him."

He doesn't wait for a reply, instead walking out with a call of, "Have fun, Scully."

She groans as he departs, and her head falls back down in lamentation of her general circumstance. She stays still in a brief pity party of exhaustion and annoyance before commanding her tired arms to start righting the mess she made.

Kneeling on the floor gathering tape and boxes, she asks herself aloud in soft, languid mumbles, "Why, why am I here? What's the point? What could we possibly find? Nothing, nothing, nothing of meaning. This is all so pointless. Uggghhh," she senselessly concludes with puppy dog sadness. She intermittently mutters along these lines during her cleanup, during which she also keeps eyeing the drapes. They really do look like a bed.

When the supplies are back in order, she longingly gazes at the drapes one last time before resigning herself to the actual task at hand. She hasn't heard a peep from Mulder.

Scully exits the supply room and says, "Mul--"

"Shhhh! Get over here!" Mulder whispers frantically while irregularly wobbling his head. He's waving her over with flailing hands.

She obeys. She also walks up and places her hand on his forehand, checking for fever.

Mulder again shakes his hands, this time to push her hand away while shooting her a squinty-eyed glare that reads, "I'm FINE, Doctor Scully."

The look is erased as quickly as it appeared, and he puts a hand on Scully's shoulder and pulls her in close. "The skeleton," he whispers. "It's been talking."

"Why didn't you come get me?" she whispers back.

"Shhhh, listen."

They stand in still silence. Mulder doesn't even risk the rustle of removing his hand from her body.

Nothing happens.

"What was it saying?" Scully finally dares to ask.

Mulder doesn't answer. Eventually he breaks the quiet of the skeleton definitely not talking and says, "I think he's having an existential crisis."

"Mulderrr..."

"Hear me out, Scully. An existential crisis is marked by questioning, right? The foundations of life cease to make sense and their meaning, their purpose, become seriously questioned. Everything can be enveloped in a sort of meaningless darkness. Isolation, introspection. That happens."

"Mmm-hmm," Scully inadvertently feeds to the fire.

"That's what the skeleton was talking about! The voice was soft and low and mumbly, just like the newspaper said, and I couldn't make out any real sentences, but that's what it was about. Nothingness, he mentioned that. Everything sounded like it was in question: the why, the meaningless of everything."

Mulder's face is so lit up that Scully actually feels bad about debunking the cockamamie idea of a talking skeleton.

"Mulder, that was me."

"You're having an existential crisis?"

"No. I was just asking myself those questions. Very quietly but out loud. I was frustrated."

Mulder vehemently shakes his head as Scully continues, "I couldn't believe where I was, what I was doing. In New Orleans? Cleaning up lab supplies? Without sleep or a normal place available to go to get any? With you out here salivating over a skeleton? And it's the middle of the night, Mulder. It's absurd even by our cases' standards."

"No," he insists.

"Yes. You were hearing me."

"No, Scully. No. It was coming from the skeleton. You were across the room in the supply closet. No way it was you."

"The building's deserted, Mulder. Sound could easily have traveled and been heard by you."

"The supply closet is all the way over there! And you said yourself that you were barely audible!"

"Fair point. But it's not unheard of for sounds to carry between nearby but somewhat obscured places. Whispering galleries, for instance, where the geometry of the walls allows even the quietest sound in one particular location to travel a good distance for pickup in another location."

"Scully, this is not Statuary Hall. We're not in the Capital Building."

"It's physics, Mulder."

"The sound wasn't coming from behind me. It was coming from in front of me, from the skeleton."

"You were just standing out here doing nothing? Staring at the skeleton? For all this time?"

"The woman who just spent time crawling around the floor of a closet may not be in the best position to judge."

"Well then," she huffs, "how do you explain it?"

"If, IF, it was you," he barely pauses, "a portal."

She drawls, "A magic portal, Mulder? Like going through the wardrobe to Narnia?"

"Maybe more like a wormhole than a portal."

"Wait, am I the White Witch in this scenario?"

"Think about it, Scully. Two locations, one in the closet, one at the skeleton, linked together by an unseen tether in space-time. Sounds go in one place, come out another." He smirks. "It's physics, Scully."

She smirks back.

"Wait, look!" Mulder trots away and retrieves a pencil cup from the instructor's table by the whiteboard.

"I don't need you to draw me a diagram, Mulder."

In reply he pulls a pencil from the cup and throws it at the wall. It pierces a poster hanging right by the skeleton and sticks to the wall.

"Mulder!" Scully barks.

So of course Mulder launches a series of pencils at the wall in quick succession, each ruining more school property near the skeleton but not passing wormhole-style through the wall and into the supply closet.

"Huh," Mulder says, staring at the wall and then at Scully. "I could've sworn the sounds were coming from that area. But I guess the portal isn't there."

"Because there's no such thing as a magic portal."

"There's no whispering gallery here either."

They stand with eyes locked in silent showdown.

Scully's eyes drift from her partner to the skeleton, which is hanging on a plastic pole and hook mounted on the ceiling.

"Look Mulder, why don't we take down the skeleton, move it to some other part of the room, and test the closet and this area for their sound characteristics?"

"Fine," he acquiesces, "but I'm not letting you be the one in the closet again. You might cheat."

?: Who should go into the closet for the sound test?

For Scully, go to section S.

For Mulder, go to section R.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Section P

"Go ahead, Scully," Mulder says as he flicks his chin toward the drapes.

"No, Mulder. No. I am not sleeping here."

"Why not? I'll be right outside."

"Why not?" Scully asks as if this is the dumbest question Mulder has ever asked (which it is not). "Because we are on a case? Because this is a serious institution of learning? Because these are needed lab supplies? Because--"

"Because you're exhausted and could use 20 minutes of rejuvenation."

"Because this room smells like rubbing alcohol? Because I am a grown professional woman? Because--"

"Because of the dentists. Because of me. Because," Mulder sighs, "because it's my fault you're here in the middle of the night, here at all."

Scully didn't imagine this as the way Mulder would eventually persuade her into bed. She also didn’t imagine persuasion exactly being needed. Even though she's said nothing out loud, her lips curl into a shy smile and her eyes drift down to the floor and off of Mulder.

Not betraying her thoughts, she says, "We're beyond fault, Mulder. I'm your partner. Of course I'm going to be with you."

He tilts her head up with a light finger to her chin, returns a shy smile of his own. Oh dear, she thinks, he better not have been thinking the same thing she was just thinking.

"Okay then, Scully, it's settled. I'll be right out here. Shout if you need anything."

Nope, apparently not the same thing.

And then Mulder is tenderly trailing his finger off her chin by moving up her jaw, making her rethink what he may have been thinking, but once the trail ends he simply walks out of the room and closes the door. She's too tired to do anything but maintain her shy smile.

Scully would have pegged any number of the things that have already happened this evening as the most unprofessional display of the case, but a lower bar is set when she takes off her heels and crawls onto a pile of fabric in a dark school supply closet. She showed more professionalism knowingly lying to an FBI panel about Mulder being shot dead in his apartment.

Her last thought before she drifts into fast sleep is that she watched out for Mulder then, and he will watch out for her now.

"Ow!"

Scully abruptly wakes and yelps another "Ow!" She tilts her head, which must have lolled in deep sleep to end up crunched against a metal shelf. She softly moans, unclear as to her location and the general state of her life that ended up with her on a pile of fabric that seems to just barely be off the floor.

In groggy confusion, she asks aloud in soft, languid mumbles, "Where am I? Why, why am I here? Hello? Am I alone? Darkness? Hello? Uggghhh," she senselessly concludes with puppy dog sadness. She mutters a bit more along these lines before quieting as her eyes adjust to the shadows.

She stays in still recline for a time before emitting another lazy "ugh" to mark her woken memory. Supply closet. Tulane. Skeleton. Mulder.

Mulder.

Scully rolls herself off the pile of drapes, stands, and smoothes her hair and clothes as best she can. Mulder has seen her look worse, much worse in various states of goo and gore and tears, but that doesn't mean she no longer cares how he sees her. She also pulls off the top couple layers of drapes and pushes them into a big plastic bin by the door that seems to be there for that purpose.

Scully opens the supply room door and says, "Mul--"

"Shhhh! Get over here!" Mulder whispers frantically while irregularly wobbling his head. He's waving her over with flailing hands.

She obeys. She also walks up and places her hand on his forehand, checking for fever.

Mulder again shakes his hands, this time to push her hand away while shooting her a squinty-eyed glare that reads, "I'm FINE, Doctor Scully."

The look is erased as quickly as it appeared, and he puts a hand on Scully's shoulder and pulls her in close. "The skeleton," he whispers. "It's been talking."

"Why didn't you come get me?" she whispers back.

"Shhhh, listen."

They stand in still silence. Mulder doesn't even risk the rustle of removing his hand from her body.

Nothing happens.

"What was it saying?" Scully finally dares to ask.

Mulder doesn't answer. Eventually he breaks the quiet of the skeleton definitely not talking and says, "I think he's having an existential crisis."

"Mulderrr..."

"Hear me out, Scully. An existential crisis is marked by questioning, right? The foundations of life cease to make sense and their meaning, their purpose, become seriously questioned. Everything can be enveloped in a sort of meaningless darkness. Isolation, introspection. That happens."

"Mmm-hmm," Scully inadvertently feeds to the fire.

"That's what the skeleton was talking about! The voice was soft and low and mumbly, just like the newspaper said, and I couldn't make out any real sentences, but that's what it was about. Darkness, he mentioned that. Loneliness. Everything sounded like it was in question: Why? Here? Why here?"

Mulder's face is so lit up that Scully actually feels bad about debunking the cockamamie idea of a talking skeleton.

"Mulder, that was me."

"You're having an existential crisis?"

"No. I was just asking myself those questions. Out loud. I was confused when I woke up."

Mulder vehemently shakes his head as Scully continues, "Sleep inertia, Mulder. I was shocked out of sleep when my head hit a metal shelf." The mood changes and his hand reaches up and moves along her neck. She manages to continue speaking with a clear scientific voice, "It's fine, I'm fine. It mostly just startled me." His hand stops moving then, cupping her bumped head with fingers threading her hair. She does not correct the position of his hand to where her head was actually hit.

She wonders why they only seem to touch one another with such care and lingering intimacy when they're hurt. Maybe because its uplifting effect would overwhelm them into oblivion if instead of lifting from the depths of sorrow they were starting from somewhere approaching normal.

She pushes against his hand. Rather than a shove away, it's delicate like an embrace. He stays linked with her.

"Confusion," she reminds them both. "Sleep inertia. I was overcome when I was jarred awake. After so long without sleep, with this day being so long, with the travel, my body was not ready to end its rest. In processing my sudden consciousness, my mind ran through simple situational questions, unable to properly perform basic problem solving or to stop the questions from flowing from my mouth or to make them come out in anything more than a low mumble punctuated with non-words and frustration." She is overcompensating for the distraction of Mulder's hand on her with a clinical voice. This is not an unusual technique for either of them to break the spell.

"And," she adds lamely, "my head hurt."

The spell broken, Mulder's hand moves from her and to his own hip. Both his hands are now on his hips with his arms bent in disbelief.

"No," he insists.

"Yes. You were hearing me."

"No, Scully. No. It was coming from the skeleton. You were across the room in the supply closet. No way it was you."

"It's completely quiet in here, Mulder. Sound could easily have traveled and been heard by you."

"The supply closet is all the way over there! And the door was closed!"

"Fair point. But it's not unheard of for sounds to carry between nearby but somewhat obscured places. Whispering galleries, for instance, where the geometry of the walls allows even the quietest sound in one particular location to travel a good distance for pickup in another location."

"Scully, this is not Statuary Hall. We're not in the Capital Building."

"It's physics, Mulder."

"The sound wasn't coming from behind me. It was coming from in front of me, from the skeleton."

"You were just standing out here doing nothing? Staring at the skeleton? For all this time?"

"The woman who was just sleeping on the floor of a closet may not be in the best position to judge."

"Well then," she huffs, "how do you explain it?"

"If, IF, it was you," he barely pauses, "a portal."

She drawls, "A magic portal, Mulder? Like going through the wardrobe to Narnia?"

"Maybe more like a wormhole than a portal."

"Wait, am I the White Witch in this scenario?"

"Think about it, Scully. Two locations, one in the closet, one at the skeleton, linked together by an unseen tether in space-time. Sounds go in one place, come out another." He smirks. "It's physics, Scully."

She smirks back.

"Wait, look!" Mulder trots away and retrieves a pencil cup from the instructor's table by the whiteboard.

"I don't need you to draw me a diagram, Mulder."

In reply he pulls a pencil from the cup and throws it at the wall. It pierces a poster hanging right by the skeleton and sticks to the wall.

Scully barks, "Mulder!"

So of course Mulder launches a series of pencils at the wall in quick succession, each ruining more school property near the skeleton but not passing wormhole-style through the wall and into the supply closet.

"Huh," Mulder says, staring at the wall and then at Scully. "I could've sworn the sounds were coming from that area. But I guess the portal isn't there."

"Because there's no such thing as a magic portal."

"There's no whispering gallery here either."

They stand with eyes locked in silent showdown.

Scully's eyes drift from her partner to the skeleton, which is hanging on a plastic pole and hook mounted on the ceiling.

"Look Mulder, why don't we take down the skeleton, move it to some other part of the room, and test the closet and this area for their sound characteristics?"

"Fine," he acquiesces, "but I'm not letting you be the one in the closet again. You might cheat."

?: Who should go into the closet for the sound test?

For Scully, go to section Q.

For Mulder, go to section R.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Section Q

Scully tilts her head in a chiding manner and says, "Right, because I am well known for working against you and for making up evidence."

"Fair point, fair point," Mulder concedes. Her head resumes its normal angle. "But," he inadvisably continues, "you don't want anything to be real here except your voice simply having carried across the lab from the closet."

"I want the truth."

"Hey, that's my line."

"Honestly, Mulder, I want to know just as much as you do how you heard those sounds." His eyes widen and twinkle. "Okay, maybe not quite as much as you," she says with a playful wink.

She never winks. She still needs a really good night's sleep.

"But I do want to know," she continues, "and I know where I was when I was talking before."

"And I know where I was out here in the lab."

"Good. Go to that spot," Scully says as she turns and heads back toward the closet.

"Don't you just go sleep again!" he calls after her.

She knows he's watching her and sees her shake her bumped head no, but she looks over her shoulder anyway and gives him another wink.

She leaves him to take down the skeleton, knowing he won't cheat.

The first thing Scully says when the skeleton's down and she's in the closet with its door closed is, "I'm not sleeping, Mulder."

They didn't work out a testing protocol before they parted, a testament to not just Scully but Mulder also being exhausted beyond their normal work capabilities. So Scully decides to ramble at low volume by interspersing repetitions of "Hear this?" with longer sentences selected by what she thinks will amuse Mulder.

"Officer Douglas is a dreamboat."

"Foxy, foxy, fox, fox."

"This is what an existential crisis sounds like."

"This is all the dentists' fault."

"There are no skeletons in my closet."

"Right here, Mulder, at this spot, yes."

She goes on and on, varying her location every couple sentences, moving up and down and around the room clockwise from her starting crouched position on the supply closet floor near the pile of drapes in an attempt to uncover whether one spot would more conducive to sound traveling than another. Plus it was awfully uncomfortable to crouch down and hold her head near where it was when she awoke and spoke before, particularly because she does not want to get onto the drapes again. She knows she would fall asleep there again immediately, Mulder would choose to enter the closet just as she lies down, or both.

After Scully circles back to her original crouched spot, she pulls out her phone and calls Mulder's.

"Dreamboat Fox," he answers.

She was going to ask him if he'd heard anything, but now knowing the answer to that question, she says, "I've worked my way all around the room. I'm coming out to compare notes."

As soon as she opens the supply room door, he says, businesslike, "I could only hear you shortly after you went inside and then right before you phoned."

She notices he's conceding that it was her he was hearing. Her word choices weren't for naught.

"Did you hear me in the closet, Scully?"

"I don't think so. What did you say?"

"Oh, you'd know it if you heard it."

Given the things she said in the closet for Mulder to possibly hear, Scully feels an intense desperate rush to know Mulder's words. His humor is often inappropriately timed, at her expense, or both, but she knows her life would be emptier without it and that it would have warmed her this late night. Has warmed her.

So she smiles and raises a curious brow but remains on task, asking, "You heard the sound coming from the area where the skeleton was? Not from where it's on the table now halfway across the room?"

"Right. He's Mr. Chattybones no more."

"I'm sorry, Mulder."

He looks at her quizzically, clearly not expecting that response.

"I know you wanted it to be him," Scully reveals. "It's not, and I'm sorry."

"Thank you," he says simply without any questioning left in his gaze. She feels his sincerity from the simplicity.

They stand in silence for a small spell before Mulder speaks.

"I'm sorry too," he says, his eyes twinkling in a way she knows means trouble. "I know how much you've gotten used to me always being right."

She actually has become strangely resigned to the fact that Mulder's intuitions, no matter how outlandish and incredible, often end up with a ring of undeniable truth. Even as attempting to prove him wrong with science and rationality is part of her investigative protocol, she has come to enjoy the times science and rationality fail to bridge the gap to his theories. The way his mind works fascinates her, and she's in quiet awe every day she's with him that he shares his mind with her so freely.

She hopes he feels the same. More than hopes, she knows. She knows he knows too. They're a bonded pair.

Not that she would let him know the full extent of how she has come to appreciate his absurd ideas and conclusions. Especially not here. An itty-bitty one-way sound portal, good grief.

"It's not a magic portal either, Mulder."

"And no way it's a whispering gallery, Scully."

"The geometry actually is all wrong for a whispering gallery. The rooms don't have the requisite concave curvature."

Mulder has a short-lived look of triumph before wondering, "So what is it then?"

She pauses, contemplative, before sighing in resolve. "Does it even matter, Mulder?"

"Scully! Are you giving up on science?"

She delivers a superb incredulous look. "Of course not. It's just ... does it really matter why or how the sound is transferring from one spot to another? It's not harming anything, except possibly student productivity."

"And the skeleton's reputation."

"If the shelves and supplies were rearranged just a bit in the closet, Mulder, the tiny ground zero of sound transfer would be obscured, and that would be the end of it."

"We just walk away with no explanation? Have our case report to Skinner end with an 'I dunno' and a shrug?"

"And that would be unlike our other cases how?"

Mulder closes his eyes and runs his palm down his face, showing the frustration and acquiescence that's normally her domain.

"So," he asks, "you're suggesting we just hang up the skeleton, contact the school, recommend some redecorating, and go home?"

"We also pay them back for projectile pencil damage."

"Well," he ponders, "we did save enough money on accommodations to cover the unfortunate damage caused by necessary field testing."

"So you're on board?"

"Who am I to deny you, SKULL-E?" he says, pointing like a loon back and forth between her head and the skeleton's.

With a mixture of laughter and incredulity, she observes, "All our cases where I'm handling a skull in a coroner's office or a graveyard or a forest or wherever – we've really run across a lot of skulls now that I think about it - and it's only now you're coming to this realization?"

"That you reign supreme? No."

"No?"

"No. No bones about it."

"Mulder, I think you might need some sleep even more than I do."

"C'mon Scully, let's go home."

Even though she feels at home right now, alone with Mulder, late at night, wrangling a case, she agrees to go home, where she will look forward to starting it all over again.

END  
(Go to end notes)

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Section R

Scully tilts her head in a chiding manner and says, "Right, because I am well known for working against you and for making up evidence."

"Fair point, fair point," Mulder concedes. Her head resumes its normal angle. "But," he inadvisably continues, "you don't want anything to be real here except your voice simply having carried across the lab from the closet."

"I want the truth."

"Hey, that's my line."

"Honestly, Mulder, I want to know just as much as you do how you heard those sounds." His eyes widen and twinkle. "Okay, maybe not quite as much as you," she says with a playful wink.

She never winks. She still needs a really good night's sleep.

"Then you should be the one out here listening, Scully. To see if you can hear anything or if it's just me."

"Okay, but I never said I thought you made up hearing anything."

"I know." He omits, "You didn't have to."

She helps him take down the skeleton and move it to a table far away from its normal home before he heads to the closet.

"Don't you go to sleep in there!" she calls after him.

In reply he looks over his shoulder and winks.

They didn't work out a testing protocol before they parted, a testament to not just Scully but Mulder also being exhausted beyond their normal work capabilities. So Scully decides to simply stand in front of the skeleton where she saw Mulder when she had earlier walked out of the closet.

No sooner had she made that decision does she hear the soft, tinny words, "In the sack ... skeptical Scully ... one day ... poor Queequeg."

If Scully wasn't immobile and on alert before, she is now. Maybe Mulder was trying to bed her on the drapes before?

No. No. She's probably not hearing Mulder at all. "No, no," she involuntarily whispers aloud in emphasis.

It's much more likely that there's an invisible speaking spirit floating in the space previously occupied by the skeleton that is now uttering what sound like come-ons to Scully. "Casper is a very friendly ghost," her mouth again uncontrollably whispers. She rushes her hand up over her mouth before she says anything else out loud.

She knows she's hearing Mulder's disembodied voice from in front of her when he's definitely far behind her secreted away in a little room. 

She stands there with her hand on her face, silent and immobile for what feels like a very long time. She hears nothing but her own measured breaths.

Scully almost jumps out of her skin and becomes a spirit herself at the sudden sound of more odd, low words. "Quick brown fox ... little green ... superstar."

Her mouth would have fallen open if her hand hadn't been holding it together. *How* is that sound getting here?

Not a mystery is the next sound: the sharp trilling of her cell phone.

"Skeptical Scully," she answers.

"I've worked my way all around the room, Scully. I'm coming out to compare notes." Then he hangs up on her.

As soon as he exits the supply room, she says, businesslike, "I could only hear you shortly after you went inside and then right before you phoned."

"You heard my footsteps?"

"No."

"My words?"

"Yes."

"So you're not just saying you heard me on a technicality? You heard my words, my whispering?"

Scully nods.

"I only started speaking once I was at the spot where you knocked into and ruined supplies. After circling around the room, I ended up back there. So you must have only been able to hear me from that one spot."

"I did not ruin anything, but yes, it sounds that way."

He looks contemplative, surely processing different theories.

She asks, "Did you hear me in the closet, Mulder?"

"I don't think so. What did you say?"

"Oh, nothing much."

He looks like he wants to ask for details, but he doesn't. 

She smiles but remains on task, offering, "I heard the sound coming from the area where the skeleton was, definitely not from the closet or from where the skeleton's on the table now halfway across the room."

"He's Mr. Chattybones no more," Mulder says, deflated.

"I'm sorry, Mulder."

He looks at her quizzically, clearly not expecting that response.

"I know you wanted it to be him," Scully reveals. "It's not, and I'm sorry."

"Thank you," he says simply without any questioning left in his gaze. She feels his sincerity from the simplicity.

They stand in silence for a small spell before Mulder speaks.

"I'm sorry too," he says, his eyes twinkling in a way she knows means trouble. "I know how much you've gotten used to me always being right."

She actually has become strangely resigned to the fact that Mulder's intuitions, no matter how outlandish and incredible, often end up with a ring of undeniable truth. Even as attempting to prove him wrong with science and rationality is part of her investigative protocol, she has come to enjoy the times science and rationality fail to bridge the gap to his theories. There's always more to learn. Plus, the way his mind works fascinates her, and she's in quiet awe every day she's with him that he shares it with her so freely.

She hopes he feels the same. More than hopes, she knows. She knows he knows too. They're a bonded pair.

Not that she would let him know the full extent of how she has come to appreciate his absurd ideas and conclusions. Especially not here. An itty-bitty one-way sound portal, good grief.

"It's not a magic portal either, Mulder."

"And no way it's a whispering gallery, Scully."

"The geometry actually is all wrong for a whispering gallery. The rooms don't have the requisite concave curvature."

Mulder has a short-lived look of triumph before wondering, "So what is it then?"

She pauses, contemplative, before sighing in resolve. "Does it even matter, Mulder?"

"Scully! Are you giving up on science?"

She delivers a superb incredulous look. "Of course not. It's just ... does it really matter why or how the sound is transferring from one spot to another? It's not harming anything, except possibly student productivity."

"And the skeleton's reputation."

"If the shelves and supplies were rearranged just a bit in the closet, Mulder, the tiny ground zero of sound transfer would be obscured, and that would be the end of it."

"We just walk away with no explanation? Have our case report to Skinner end with an 'I dunno' and a shrug?"

"And that would be unlike our other cases how?"

Mulder closes his eyes and runs his palm down his face, showing the frustration and acquiescence that's normally her domain.

"So," he asks, "you're suggesting we just hang up the skeleton, contact the school, recommend some redecorating, and go home?"

"We also pay them back for projectile pencil damage."

"Well," he ponders, "we did save enough money on accommodations to cover the unfortunate damage caused by necessary field testing."

"So you're on board?"

"Who am I to deny you, SKULL-E?" he says, pointing like a loon back and forth between her head and the skeleton's.

With a mixture of laughter and incredulity, she observes, "All our cases where I'm handling a skull in a coroner's office or a graveyard or a forest or wherever – we've really run across a lot of skulls now that I think about it - and it's only now you're coming to this realization?"

"That you reign supreme? No."

"No?"

"No. No bones about it."

"Mulder, I think you might need some sleep even more than I do."

"C'mon Scully, let's go home."

Even though she feels at home right now, alone with Mulder, late at night, wrangling a case, she agrees to go home, where she will look forward to starting it all over again.

END  
(Go to end notes)

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Section S

Scully tilts her head in a chiding manner and says, "Right, because I am well known for working against you and for making up evidence."

"Fair point, fair point," Mulder concedes. Her head resumes its normal angle. "But," he inadvisably continues, "you don't want anything to be real here except your voice simply having carried across the lab from the closet."

"I want the truth."

"Hey, that's my line."

"Honestly, Mulder, I want to know just as much as you do how you heard those sounds." His eyes widen and twinkle. "Okay, maybe not quite as much as you," she says with a playful wink.

She never winks. She still needs a really good night's sleep.

"But I do want to know," she continues, "and I know where I was when I was talking before."

"And I know where I was out here in the lab."

"Good. Go to that spot," Scully says as she turns and heads back toward the closet.

"Don't you go to sleep!" he calls after her.

She knows he's watching her and sees her shake her head no, but she looks over her shoulder anyway and gives him another wink.

She leaves him to take down the skeleton, knowing he won't cheat.

The first thing Scully says when the skeleton's down and she's in the closet is, "I'm not sleeping, Mulder."

They didn't work out a testing protocol before they parted, a testament to not just Scully but Mulder also being exhausted beyond their normal work capabilities. So Scully decides to ramble at low volume by interspersing repetitions of "Hear this?" with longer sentences selected by what she thinks will amuse Mulder.

"Officer Douglas is a dreamboat."

"Foxy, foxy, fox, fox."

"This is what an existential crisis sounds like."

"This is all the dentists' fault."

"There are no skeletons in my closet."

"Right here, Mulder, at this spot, yes."

She goes on and on, varying her location every couple sentences in an attempt to uncover whether one spot would more conducive to sound traveling than another. She moves up and down and around the room clockwise from her starting crouched position on the floor where she started her housekeeping. She's sometimes in places she never was during the cleanup, but she figures she should be thorough.

After Scully circles back to her original crouched spot, she pulls out her phone and calls Mulder's.

"Dreamboat Fox," he answers.

She was going to ask him if he'd heard anything, but now knowing the answer to that question, she says, "I've worked my way all around the room. I'm coming out to compare notes."

As soon as she exits the supply room, he says, businesslike, "I could only hear you shortly after you went inside and then right before you phoned."

She notices he's conceding that it was her he was hearing. Her word choices weren't for naught.

"Did you hear me in the closet, Scully?"

"I don't think so. What did you say?"

"Oh, you'd know it if you heard it."

Given the things she said in the closet for Mulder to possibly hear, Scully feels an intense desperate rush to know Mulder's words. His humor is often inappropriately timed, at her expense, or both, but she knows her life would be emptier without it and that it would have warmed her this late night. Has warmed her.

So she smiles and raises a curious brow but remains on task, asking, "You heard the sound coming from the area where the skeleton was? Not from where it's on the table now halfway across the room?"

"Right. He's Mr. Chattybones no more."

"I'm sorry, Mulder."

He looks at her quizzically, clearly not expecting that response.

"I know you wanted it to be him," Scully reveals. "It's not, and I'm sorry."

"Thank you," he says simply without any questioning left in his gaze. She feels his sincerity from the simplicity.

They stand in silence for a small spell before Mulder speaks.

"I'm sorry too," he says, his eyes twinkling in a way she knows means trouble. "I know how much you've gotten used to me always being right."

She actually has become strangely resigned to the fact that Mulder's intuitions, no matter how outlandish and incredible, often end up with a ring of undeniable truth. Even as attempting to prove him wrong with science and rationality is part of her investigative protocol, she has come to enjoy the times science and rationality fail to bridge the gap to his theories. The way his mind works fascinates her, and she's in quiet awe every day she's with him that he shares his mind with her so freely.

She hopes he feels the same. More than hopes, she knows. She knows he knows too. They're a bonded pair.

Not that she would let him know the full extent of how she has come to appreciate his absurd ideas and conclusions. Especially not here. An itty-bitty one-way sound portal, good grief.

"It's not a magic portal either, Mulder."

"And no way it's a whispering gallery, Scully."

"The geometry actually is all wrong for a whispering gallery. The rooms don't have the requisite concave curvature."

Mulder has a short-lived look of triumph before wondering, "So what is it then?"

She pauses, contemplative, before sighing in resolve. "Does it even matter, Mulder?"

"Scully! Are you giving up on science?"

She delivers a superb incredulous look. "Of course not. It's just ... does it really matter why or how the sound is transferring from one spot to another? It's not harming anything, except possibly student productivity."

"And the skeleton's reputation."

"If the shelves and supplies were rearranged just a bit in the closet, Mulder, the tiny ground zero of sound transfer would be obscured, and that would be the end of it."

"We just walk away with no explanation? Have our case report to Skinner end with an 'I dunno' and a shrug?"

"And that would be unlike our other cases how?"

Mulder closes his eyes and runs his palm down his face, showing the frustration and acquiescence that's normally her domain.

"So," he asks, "you're suggesting we just hang up the skeleton, contact the school, recommend some redecorating, and go home?"

"We also pay them back for projectile pencil damage."

"Well," he ponders, "we did save enough money on accommodations to cover the unfortunate damage caused by necessary field testing."

"So you're on board?"

"Who am I to deny you, SKULL-E?" he says, pointing like a loon back and forth between her head and the skeleton's.

With a mixture of laughter and incredulity, she observes, "All our cases where I'm handling a skull in a coroner's office or a graveyard or a forest or wherever – we've really run across a lot of skulls now that I think about it - and it's only now you're coming to this realization?"

"That you reign supreme? No."

"No?"

"No. No bones about it."

"Mulder, I think you might need some sleep even more than I do."

"C'mon Scully, let's go home."

Even though she feels at home right now, alone with Mulder, late at night, wrangling a case, she agrees to go home, where she will look forward to starting it all over again.

END

**Author's Note:**

> This story was started in 2004, abandoned halfway written in 2005, and resumed long later with surprise in 2016. Without the Season 10 Revival, this story would likely have sat forever undone. The Revival revived!
> 
> More appreciation: Thanks to Anjou for the encouragement and advice that definitely helped push this story into reality. Thanks also to this story's early critic Blueswirl, who probably doesn't even remember what she did, but I do with gratitude.
> 
> First posted March 18, 2016


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